


Everspring

by f3tid



Series: Forever(more) [1]
Category: Fruits Basket, Fruits Basket (Anime 2019), Fruits Basket - Takaya Natsuki (Manga)
Genre: Aftercare, Bedroom Sex, Biting, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Canon Het Relationship, Coming of Age, Committed Relationship, Consensual Sex, Cuddling & Snuggling, Doggy Style, Dorks in Love, Drama & Romance, Engagement, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Foreplay, Graduation, Gratuitous Smut, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Heterosexual Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Kitchen Sex, Kyohru, Kyoru - Freeform, Lemon, Long-Term Relationship(s), Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Missionary Position, Moving In Together, Moving Out, Multiple Orgasms, Naked Cuddling, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Post-Coital Cuddling, Pregnancy Scares, Premarital Sex, Romance, Scratching, Shower Sex, Simultaneous Orgasm, Slice of Life, Smut, Spoilers, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:26:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 44,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25603540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/f3tid/pseuds/f3tid
Summary: Creases rise at the corner of Kazuma's eyes as he looks upon his son. His complexion looks healthy, his body strong. He doesn't miss the red spot on his neck, but doesn't mention it either."You seem happy, Kyo." He says.Kyo shrugs with a lopsided smile. "I am, Master."-------Truthfully, the season and the weather are inconsequential. When they are together, it is always Spring.
Relationships: Honda Tohru/Sohma Kyou
Series: Forever(more) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2169447
Comments: 144
Kudos: 318





	1. Hey

The window is open and a cool breeze sweeps in, carrying with it the smell of flower petals and wet grass. She lays on her bed with her head in the crook of one hand. She stares intently at the book she's reading. Her legs sway idly. She gnaws at her lip.

A lethargic melody hums via the wireless speaker. The singer's voice, unhurried and familiar, fills the space and dances off the wooden floorboards, the pages of her book. The lyrics remind him of the sun bearing down on the sand and seawater speckling his face in its fine mist. His shoulders slacken.

He's lying on his back beside her. One of his arms are folded behind his head, propped up against the back wall. With one hand he drags his thumb listlessly across the screen of his phone. 

His eyes rise to meet the back of her head.

"Hey," he says.

She's still.

" _Hey_." He says again.

"Oh!"

She turns to him. A waterfall of fine brown hair spills over her shoulder to reveal warm and tired eyes. She looks at him sweetly, but expectantly.

"Sorry. I've been stuck on this one paragraph for a minute. Did you need something?"

His phone falls to his thigh and he moves to catch one of her feet in his hand. She grins.

"Yeah, come 'ere a second."

He lets her foot fall away as she tucks her legs beneath her and settles in beside him.

"Did you want a hug?" She asks.

He chuckles. He smooths her hair with his fingers, tucking some strands behind her ear. She rests her cheek in the palm of his hand, dark eyes watching him thoughtfully.

"Yeah, something like that," he says, his voice a soft facsimile. He feels shy under her scrutiny.

She feels the low vibration of his voice ripple from his chest to the bed. She moves to rest her head against his shoulder, her arms snaked around his waist. Her fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. She can feel his fingers weaving through her hair, starting at the crown and crossing the distance to her hips.

The threads of her hair fall away from his fingers and he rests his hand upon her hip. He perches his chin atop her head. His fingers bunch the hem of her dress at her hip. He skates them lightly across her skin, the muscles in his arm tensing, as he grazes the fabric of her underwear.

She closes the fabric of his shirt in her fist. Wordlessly, she buries her nose into his neck. She feels the cotton hem of her dress curl against her thighs, hiking a trail over her bottom that tickles the skin and leaves her face hot.

His fingers stroke gingerly against the strip of fabric. He presses with the flats of two fingertips and works them in a slow circle around her center. The heat there builds and warms his fingers, radiates into the palm of his hand. With the other hand, he grabs her thigh and pulls it over his lap, widening the arc between her legs. He feels her breath hitch and she pushes her face into his chest while tilting herself into his hand.

The sound he makes is low and quiet, amplified by the closeness of her ear to his chest. She can feel the rhythm of his breath change and she widens her legs.

She dampens her underwear at his touch. The scent of her overshadows the draft spilling in through the window. It dilates his eyes as he slips two fingers between fabric and flesh. His fingers glide up and down the valley between her lips, slick.

He grabs at her inner thigh with his other hand. His fingers, skin rough and calloused, press in on the soft, plump surface there. She can feel his fingernails scrape ever so slightly against her thigh. He holds his breath, then, and she finds her lips parted. His fingertips press against her, pressure rising until he sinks them in, deliberately slow. She feels the shape of them, the texture of them, slide deeper inside of her and they both of them marvel at how tightly her walls close around his fingers. He finally exhales as she takes his middle and index fingers up to his knuckles.

They lay there a moment, chests rising and falling out of sync and against each other. He angles his chin down and plants a kiss at the crown of her head. She tilts her head up just to see him when he curls both fingers inside her. She gasps. His thumb strokes feather light against her from the outside, his two fingers building momentum and making an obscene amount of sound.

He pulls his hand away entirely and she sucks in a breath before he slides back in. She feels her own wetness there on his fingers, the palm of his hand, smearing across the bundle of nerves that he is so carefully kneading. She feels him slip in up to his knuckles before pulling back out again. And again. She offers herself, legs spreading, into the palm of his hand.

With her legs splayed across the bed, one at her side and the other over his lap, his free hand roams the valley between her hip and shoulder. His touch soft but intentional as he cups her breast. Her breath hitches. He palms it, fingers spread across her neckline and chest. He parts her bras from her skin and delves inside. His grabs hold of one of her breasts with one large and calloused hand. He pinches her nipple between the lengths of two fingers, then encircles it with the pad of his thumb.

She rises from his chest to capture his mouth in a kiss. The warmth of his breath and the wetness of his tongue are a chaotic comfort as his fingers pound and pinch at her body. She feels flushed. Her hands quake and she gasps at the air as their kiss breaks. A desperate sound peals from her open mouth as he hammers into her with his hand. She unzips his pants.

The rigid outline of his cock sits beneath the fabric of his boxer-briefs. The plot of flesh between his open fly and the wrinkled hem of his shirt is a sacred one -- all tan skin, tense muscle, and bristly red hair. She runs a hand through the hair there, fingernails traversing the thickening trail until they dip below the elastic waistband. She doesn't bother looking his way and yanks the fabric just beneath his hips.

His cock springs free, bobbing until standing at a slight arc, pointing towards her waiting, open mouth. She looks at the moisture teeming at the head, swollen and wanting. His chest rumbles with a moan as she takes the shaft in her hand, then closes her mouth around him. A flavor fills her mouth that reminds her of the sea, but it dissipates as she bathes his flesh in her tongue. Her cheeks hollow as she sucks at him, head rising, falling, halting, and rising once again. She feels the head of his cock breech the back of her throat and her eyes water.

She can feel his hips buck up at her. His fingers stroke inside of her in off-beat desperation. He dusts his fingertips against her nipple, feather light, but consistent.

She pulls back until just the tip of him remains between her lips, then crashes down with a groan. The vibration elicits a new kind of excitement from him as he pulls his hand from her chest and knots it in her hair. His pace hastens, his cock stiff and immalleable. He guides her with his hands, her head bobbing up and down. Pressure builds in his core. His hips rise from the bed. His lips part and let loose the sounds of a man chasing his release.

Suddenly he stops. He lets her hair spill over his hands. His fingers stop fucking. His hips ease back to the mattress. His cock springs from her lips, glistening and slick.

Their eyes meet. Pupils massive. Cheeks flushed. Already overstimulated, he caresses her face.

"I need to fuck you," he breathlessly says.

"Yeah," she replies.

Their lips crash as she clambers into his lap. He lifts her dress over her head and marvels as her hair rains down over her shoulders. She slips her bra straps over her shoulders while he unhooks it behind her back, his lips laying kisses across the tops of her breasts. The garment falls free and she rids herself of it, flinging it off the side of the bed. She peels his shirt from his chest and it, too, joins the pile on the floor.

He hooks a finger behind the front of her underwear and tugs it aside. He wields his cock in the other hand, positioning himself at her entrance, hot and dribbling. He takes one of her nipples into his mouth and swirls his tongue across it as she sits down on him. The walls of her cunt bloom for him. Her voice fills the room. His arms wrap around her midsection and pull her to him. 

His hips buck upwards and her body responds in kind. Her breath catches and her breasts bounce. Her toes curl into the bedclothes. Her hands take to the muscled flesh between his shoulders and his jaw, fingers knitting at the base of his head.

"Kyo," She whimpers.

He rolls his hips up and into her.

She throws her head back and moans.

His hands plant themselves at her hips. His mouth works at her breast.

" _Yes_ ," She hisses between her teeth.

He lifts her by the hips and wrenches her back down onto his cock. He continues, muscles straining against his flesh, as he snaps her to meet him thrust for thrust. He releases her breast and watches with intense focus, brow drawn, as her body bounces in his grasp.

He feels her nails dig into the back of his neck and he groans. His fingers spread across the expanse of her hips, thumbs locked in place at the bone. He hefts his hips up from the bed as he ratchets her body down. His cock impales her over and over again, and he feels her tighten around him. He buries himself in her chest and relieves some of the tension with his voice.

"I can't hold it."

She shudders. "Oh God, I need you to cum."

He hurls them both forward, bodies spread across the length of her bed. Her book topples over the edge and lands with a thud. She releases her hands and they fall near her head as her legs bend, feet propped on his shoulders. She can see nothing but his face as he holds himself above her. She feels his rough, wet fingers rove the rounds of her hips. He grabs her underwear and hikes them up her legs. The elastic band slips easily over her right foot but hangs freely from her left. She reaches to adjust it, but he plants his hands on either side of her head and pilfers whatever thought she might've been entertaining.

He pulls himself almost completely out before slamming back in. She can feel the head of his cock probing at the back of her.

His cock hits that spot in such a way that her vision is clouded with stars and her stomach takes flight. It's like glitter popping off and raining down in the very core of her. Tears prick her eyes and her hips fuck him back as she begins to scream.

"I'm cumming," she gasps again and again, "God, I'm cumming."

He grits his teeth and grinds his hips against her as the walls of her vagina convulse around him. He chokes on a breath and gasps for the next. Sweat builds at his brow. He falls to his forearms on top of her, though his hips keep moving. It's too much.

"Fuck, Tohru." He seethes.

With every jerk of his hips, he spills. She feels him twitch inside of her, feels his muscles relax with each stroke. She enfolds him in her arms' embrace and presses a kiss to his temple. He pants against her, body hot and hips still rocking, until he comes to rest on top of her.

When next he meets her eyes, she's grinning. He smirks back.

"Happy?" He says, bemused.

She laughs. "Yes! Very, _very_ happy. Are you?"

He closes his eyes with an easy, lethargic smile and nods his head. He rests a hand atop her head and strokes her hair away from her face.

"You're beautiful," he says in a voice so quiet she can hardly hear it. He kisses her at the peak of her cheekbone, just beneath her eye.

Her fingers follow the rills of the muscles in his back. "You are, too."

He shivers as her nails paint across his skin. She feels his other hand snake between her body and the mattress and squeeze her butt. She shoots him a look and snickers. He does too.

"What're the odds we go downstairs to an empty house and a hot meal, already prepared?" He murmurs against the comforter.

There's a knock at the door and Kyo's whole body tenses. Tohru presses her lips to his shoulder to stifle a laugh.

"Kyo, Tohru," Shigure's voice slices through the quiet, "If you're quite done in there, I'd really love some udon tonight."

She whispers into Kyo's skin. "Zero."

Kyo props himself up on one arm and barks at the closed door. "Wait downstairs or cook something yourself, you talentless fucking pervert."

"She's still my housekeeper, and I'm so hungry, Kyo! You'd think you'd have a better attitude after all the fun you've been having in there."

Kyo springs from the bed, yanking his pants up and over his hips, and storms toward the door. " _What_ did you just say to me?"

The sound of receding footsteps and the door flying open summon Tohru to her feet. She pulls her underwear back up and smooths her dress over her body. She ducks under Kyo's arm, perched in the doorway as he shouts after Shigure, and graces him with a kiss.

"Come help me with dinner," she softly says. Her fingers intertwine with his and she makes for the stairwell.

He follows dutifully, like always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My very first fanfic ever was for Kyo/Tohru, so now that I'm a filthy adult, I brought it full circle with whatever this was. I'm accepting prompts for Fruits Basket as a series, so please feel free to drop me a line. I hope you enjoyed!


	2. And Then She Said

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it seems like Kyo is an ass man, it's because he is. Thanks for reading!

They walk hand in hand down the city streets, engrossed in conversation. By now their route is practiced and unremarkable, though the times and feelings change by the week. The sun cooks the sidewalk down below on a cloudless afternoon.

Kyo's jacket is slung over his shoulder, a simple grey t-shirt stretched across his chest. His hair is damp and drying in the sunlight, having stopped for a shower after school. In one hand, he's got a plastic bag of groceries. The leafy tops of celery and carrots peek out from the bag and brush against his wrist. His other hand is woven in Tohru's fingers.

It's subtle, but she's leading him along the walk, her pace just slightly hastened. The hem of her dress flounces with every step. She vacillates between looking ahead and looking back at him. The sun beats down on the plaited crown of hair on her head. Her cheeks redden in the heat.

"And then she said --"

Her body jerks to a halt for an instant before she's pulled to his chest with a jerk of his arm. She places a hand on him and tilts her head up to meet his eyes, bewildered.

He nods toward the space up ahead. Her gaze follows. Suddenly she can hear the ringing of the city rail. She sees the cars halted across the street. The train whizzes by with a high pitched, industrial whine. Her hair is blown back by the wind in its wake. She doesn't realize she's been holding her breath. Her fingers curl into fists, the fabric of his shirt bunching between her knuckles.

"Th-that was close." She gulps.

He smiles at her, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "You're fine. I've got you."

She shakes her head. "But, but I could've --"

He raises their threaded hands to his lips and kisses the back of her hand. A punctuation.

"I said I've got you."

She swallows dryly. "Sorry."

The train passes and he leads them across the street.

"What're you sorry for?" He says with an ease that she envies.

His back is to her. She can see his autumn colored hair, still damp from the shower, cling to the skin at the back of his neck. The slight breeze tents his shirt in the front, but it clings to him in the back. She can see his frame through it -- strong and solid, with muscles sculpted between his shoulders and down his spine.

Watching him tow her along, groceries in hand, she imagines many days like this, in a faraway town. Maybe someplace by the sea. She thinks an apartment for two in an oceanside town sounds ideal. The air would smell different, maybe even lighter. He would be a martial arts teacher and she…Well she would be his wife, wouldn't she?

"Tohru."

She snaps to attention, eyes wide. "Ah! Yes?"

"We're here." He says with a snicker.

He releases her hand and presses the soft side of his fist to her forehead. The bow of his lips looks bemused as he shakes his head.

"Where d'you go, huh?" He says gently.

She beams back up at him, curling her fingers round his forearm. "I just get lost in my thoughts sometimes."

He sets the bag of groceries down on the raised wooden deck before them. He slips his sneakers off his heels and takes a seat at the deck's edge. He summons her over with a tilt of his head.

She scurries to his side and slides off her sandals, pairing them in her hand before she places them at the side of the door.

The deck has a sheen to it that they haven't noticed before. Its surface is hot -- almost uncomfortable to stand on -- after an afternoon under the sun. The paper walls do little to conceal the sounds of a class hard at work. Children's voices color the air sporadically with their attempts at warrior grunts and cries. The doors are pulled open, allowing the heat to escape and a draft to pass through.

Tohru pads over the threshold with Kyo following after her. She looks left and right in the dojo's lobby, but finds the front desk empty. She catches Kyo slip away to the kitchen in her periphery. Wandering away from the entrance, she finds Rin seated at a table outside of the sparring room, a pencil in hand and a sketchbook splayed before her.

"Oh, Rin!" She says, dropping to her knees on a cushion beside her. "I didn't expect to see you here. How are you?"

"Alive. Bored."

Rin looks up at Tohru through half-hooded eyes, though a soft smile teases the corners of her mouth. She sets her pencil aside and instead pinches the hem of Tohru's dress.

"I like this on you. Is it new?" She remarks, tugging gently at it.

Tohru's smile is wide and proud. "It is! I bought it with some of the money from my final paycheck at work. I thought maybe I could wear it to our graduation party."

Rin's own smile grows. "Oh, definitely. You should wear red more often."

"That's funny, Kyo said the same thing."

Rin returns to her drawing, a glint in her eye. "I'm sure he did. You look hot."

Tohru feels a rush of heat splash her cheeks. "Y-you really think so?"

Rin furrows her brow and gives a noncommittal shrug. "Yeah, dude."

Kyo emerges from the kitchen. His eyes befall Rin, curled up near her sketchbook as usual, and a slight smile tugs at his lips as he looks at Tohru, flustered.

"Hey. What'd you say to Tohru?" He says as he takes a seat at Tohru's side. He rests an arm on the tabletop and slips the other around Tohru's back, hand resting at her hip.

Rin casts a sidelong glance at the couple, eyes lingering on his hand, before returning to her drawing. She snorts. "Nothing. I just told her she looks hot."

Tohru waves the compliment off. "Tha-thank you, but --"

"You're her boyfriend," Rin drawls, eyes snapping up to meet Kyo's across the table. "Tell her she looks hot. She likes that."

Kyo furrows his brow and retreats into himself a little. His cheeks burn. "I tell 'er every day. Mind your business."

Tohru buries her face in her hands.

"'Every day'," Rin tries his words on her lips. She returns her attention to her sketchbook.

Kyo wrinkles his nose. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, really." Rin says flatly.

"I-I didn't know Haru was training with Master Kazuma today." Tohru interjects.

Rin cocks her head. "He's not. He and Kagura are teaching the junior class."

"She's here?"

"How wonderful!"

Kyo and Tohru's words strike the air at the exact same time. They meet each other's eyes -- a playful levity in Tohru's and something terse in Kyo's. She melds her fingers into his at her side.

Kyo rubs at the back of his neck with his hand. "Why don't you ever try sparring, Rin? I feel like you could really do some damage if you tried."

Rin gives him a hard look. "Not interested."

"Whatever. Where's Master?"

Rin hooks her wrist over her shoulder and extends her index finger, pointing to the sliding paper doors behind her. "He's doing observations."

"Well, tell 'im we'll be in the kitchen making dinner." He says, pulling himself from the floor. "We won't interrupt."

Rin maintains her cool expression save for a single quirk of her brow. "Dinner?"

Tohru smooths her dress across her thighs as she stands. "Yeah! We come over once a week and cook for Master Kazuma. You're welcome to join us."

Rin ponders the invitation with a hum.

Kyo disappears behind the kitchen noren. "Show up or don't. There's food if you want it."

* * *

The kitchen simmers with the smell of boiling broth and fresh-cut vegetables. The rhythmic sound of a knife batting against a cutting board plays percussion as a halved fish sizzles on the stovetop. The room stews in its own warmth and steam.

"Kyo, can you open the window, please?" Tohru asks over the sound of the frying fish.

"Sure."

He rests the knife on its side and leans over the counter to pry open the kitchen window. Then, he returns to chopping.

She glances over the bubbling pot of broth and reduces the heat. "Oh, the broth is ready. Do you have the, um?"

He appears behind her, chopping block in hand. He scrapes the vegetable strips into the pot. "Vegetables. Right here."

She cranes her neck to see him, grinning.

He seizes the invitation and presses a kiss to her lips. Then he draws back, looping an arm around her waist.

He studies her face, then finally speaks. "Do you want me to tell you things like that more often?"

He watches her knit her brows in confusion. "'Vegetables'...?"

He chuckles and she feels the reverberation of it from his chest at her back. "No, no. That you -- that you look--"

Tohru's expression eases. "Oh. You're thinking about what Rin said earlier?"

He seems to shrink at this, and leans back against the kitchen island. His large fingers hook over the lip of the counter. His arms flex against the shift in weight, and Tohru's gaze catches on them. She traces the length of his muscled forearms to his knuckles.

Worry creases her brow. She steps toward him. "I know you think I'm beautiful. Like you said, you tell me every day."

"I'll do it more, if that's what you want."

"No. That is -- I think you're doing very well, Kyo. I always know how you feel." Tohru grasps the hem of his t-shirt in both hands. "Though, it would be nice for you to use the word."

He snaps to attention. "What word? 'Hot'?"

She averts her eyes, cheeks flushed pink. "I mean, they're two different things aren't they?"

He stares down at her with softening eyes. "What d'you mean?"

"Calling someone beautiful is like talking about art. It's like 'How elegant' or 'How lovely'. And calling someone hot is -- it's like saying something else entirely."

He curls his index finger beneath her chin and raises her head towards him. His eyes are a dusky russett, obscured only by his eyelashes. His lips are set in an inscrutable line, neither a frown nor a smile. His demeanor feels soft but intoxicating.

She takes a half step closer. Her body meets his.

"What's it say?" He presses.

A cloud of butterflies take flight from the pit of her stomach and her heartbeat pounds in her ears. The words spill from her lips and slip away with the breeze.

"'I want you'."

Kyo's hand drifts from chin to cheek. He strokes the fringe from her face and brushes his fingertips through her hair. His irises smolder like the embers of a campfire. A ring of fire surrounds his pupils and spreads orange round the outside, ending in a sweet and caramelly color just before the whites of his eyes begin. Inside them, she could happily burn.

"I really do." He says in a voice only she can hear.

Her hands creep under his shirt and she splays her fingers across his stomach. His skin is warm beneath hers. Muscle sculpts his abdomen into a plane of hard valleys. Tohru's fingers traverse them. She thumbs at the stream of coarse hair that runs from his navel and disappears below his waistband. She can feel his breath in the palms of her hands.

She rises to her toes and closes the space between their lips. He tilts his head to the side to make room. His fingers spread across the back of her head and draw her in. His other hand smooths her dress across her hip and cups her rear. He feels her fingernails rake across his back, beneath his shirt.

From this vantage, he is powerless as she envelops him in her arms. He can do nothing but touch her, smell her, kiss her. The smell of her shampoo cuts through the smell of cooking food, and for a moment he sails on the scent of strawberries and rosewater. His eyebrows raise as she slips her tongue between his lips. He opens his mouth and follows her lead. His hands tighten their grip on her body, desperate for a tether as his heart races.

His hand edges to her upper thigh for support as she rests her knee on the countertop. He reaches down to hike the other up, thumbs at her hips and fingers spread across her thighs beneath her dress. Heat radiates from her body unto his. He is caught between her legs, his mouth at her mercy, his back at her fingertips.

He tears himself from her kiss for half an instant to steal a breath.

She buries her nose in his neck. He smells of fresh linens and a musky bar soap. The ends of his hair tickle her forehead as she drags her tongue across his neck. She can feel him shudder beneath her. She seeds a trail of wet, lingering kisses along his neck, before scraping her teeth across his skin.

His fingers dig into her thighs.

She can feel the shape of him. He strains against his pants.

She closes his flesh between her teeth. She digs her fingernails between his shoulder blades. Her hips grind against him, a hollow longing spreading deep in her stomach.

The deep sigh he releases seeps from his throat to her ear. He takes the lobe between his lips and tugs gently at it. His fingers squeeze. He meets her hips' heady movement with a succinct stroke of his own.

"Tohru," he rasps low in her ear, "We can't. Not here."

"I'll be quiet." she speaks against the wet, bruising patch on his neck.

She can feel his staggered breath as he replies, "What if someone walks in?"

She nips at him. "We'll be fast."

His grip on her hips tightens and he pulls her down against him. The thickness of his cock rubs at her, excites her, despite the fabric between them. The heat consumes and overwhelms him. He lowers her to her feet with a tense growl.

"Lean over by the sink," he says through clenched teeth.

Tohru can hear only the blood pumping through her veins as she races to the sink. The cool wind filtering in through the open window raises goosebumps across her flesh. Her fingers creep up her dress and loop through the sides of her panties. They fall around her ankles -- white lace on a dark wood floor.

It's a moment before his hands come around her sides. Her eyes reel down to see his long, thick fingers slide across her hips, her stomach, and meet at a point low beneath her navel. She marvels at the creases in his knuckles, the evidence of years of physical training etched into his skin. His chest rises shakily behind her. His hips press into her from behind. She can feel him at the small of her back, hot and throbbing through his pants. He smears his cheek across her neck, breath falling down the neckline of her dress. His fingers curl against her belly, the bright red fabric forming peaks between them. He pulls her to him.

"I want you, Tohru." He softly says, "I want you so bad, I can't think."

Her face burns. An enormous, empty, selfish feeling sends her stomach into orbit and drivels between her legs. She pushes her backside against his body, a futile attempt to ease some of the tension. Her fingers close against the sink's ledge. A quivering breath leaves her.

"I want you too," she whispers. "P...please."

One of his hands plunges under her dress. His fingertips ghost over the sensitive knoll of flesh there, swollen and needy, and instead stroke the length of her slit. His other hand perches at her low back and presses down. Her body bends to him. Fabric bunches at her hips. His fingers squeeze and stroke and dig into her flesh.

He turns his attention to her clit, then. The calloused tips of his fingers kiss it chastely at first -- a graze of the skin. Then he begins to knead it, gingerly at first, in a simple painterly motion. She closes her mouth against a moan. More pressure. His fingers stroke at an angle. Electricity sparks from between her legs, lights up her belly, and shimmers all the way to her core.

"Please what?"

She strains to hear his voice above his actions. She parts her lips to respond but a moan pours out from the back of her throat. His fingers circle her with purpose. Her legs tremble.

"F-fuck me," she gasps.

His fingers slow their pace but continue to work at her. The hand at her back disappears. All is silent save for the bubbling of the pots and pans on the cooktop.

A searing heat presses in from behind. She bows her legs in response and tilts her hips to meet it. His knuckles scrape against her inner thigh, smearing the wetness across his skin. The silken flesh of his cock glides against her while his fingers toy with her clit. Her fingers tighten their grip on the sink and she can't help but rock against the stiff length of him as he teases her.

The tip presses in. She can hear Kyo suck in a breath between grit teeth. She snaps her eyes shut and clamps her teeth over her lower lip, determined not to make a sound. His palm spreads across her lower belly, lifting her hips ever higher. Her legs are open, body bared to him on the platter of his open hand.

He gives a controlled jerk of his hips and pushes the rest of the way inside. He finally releases his breath, shuddering. He can hear Tohru moan against her closed mouth, the sound of it vibrating down her throat and throughout her body. He slips his hand from her belly and secures both on either side of her hips. With every thrust, he can see her red dress dance in the momentum. The sight of it causes his cheeks to flush, grip to tighten, and his pace to hasten.

He can't bear to pull out. Each time he rears back, the image of her bent over the kitchen sink makes his vision blur and his blood surge through his veins. He holds her firm between two hands and buries himself to the hilt. His breath comes shallow and stunted. Inside, he's hot and deliciously trapped in her body's vice grip. He can feel her wetness splash against him as he plunges back in. He watches it trickle down her thighs as he pulls away.

He can't take much more.

He leans forward and drapes himself over her. She feels the rise and fall of his chest at her back. His weight bears down on her from above. A moan escapes. He breathes heavy in her ear. One of his hands eclipses hers at the edge of the sink, his fingers casting shadows before weaving between hers.

His fingertips bury into the bare skin at her hip. A rivulet of sweat bleeds down his brow and transfers to her hair. Her long brown locks cascade over her shoulders, pool on the counter, and spill over the lip of the sink like a waterfall. He watches her tresses sway as he slams himself inside. Her knuckles pink as she cranks her fingers around the ledge.

She cries out, the sound emptying into the basin of the sink and echoing all around them.

He closes his teeth on her shoulder.

"I'm gonna cum," he pants against her skin.

"Do it." She whimpers.

His hand drops back between her legs. He rubs at her while his hips wildly breech and close the distance between them. He pushes against her with the heel of his hand, drawing her into him. His frantic pace coaxes a yelp from the depths of her chest. Her fingers squeeze his. He feels her legs quake beneath him.

All at once the heat and the friction and the sound of flesh against flesh consume him. He sinks his teeth into her neck and a moan oozes from his throat. He empties himself inside her with a spasm. His circling fingers slow. He rests on top of her while supporting the both of them with one arm propped up on the counter.

His other arm slips across her chest and pulls her in close. He buries his face in her hair and breathes in her scent, willing himself to calm down. He can feel her, still trembling, beneath him, and he murmurs sweetly into her neck.

"I love you." He says as he kisses her neck through her hair.

She giggles and gives his hand a squeeze. "I love you too."

He tugs his pants back up over his hips and crouches down. She feels his hands melt down her legs, then linger at her ankles. He tows her underwear back up snuggly around her hips. He grabs at her rear before smoothing her dress back down, rising back to his feet.

She turns to face him, locking her fingers behind his back, and pulls him in close. His arms envelop her from behind and his hands stroke her sides. She nestles into his chest and takes in a deep breath. The smell of him floods her nostrils and soothes her nerves.

"...That was really hot." He says against the crown of her head, his chest quaking with a laugh.

She rests her chin against him, peeering up. "Oh good! I thought so too."

He chuckles. His fingers glide up and down her arms. "You're gonna get me in trouble one day. Nobody's gonna believe me when I say it's your idea half the time."

She raises her brows and tilts her head to the side, coquettish. "That's my secret."

He smiles and lays a kiss against her hairline. "You're sneaky."

Kyo's arms slacken and he lowers to kiss her, slow and sweet. When he pulls away, she's red in the face.

"What's the matter?"

Her eyes are wide. "I forgot about dinner!"

She rushes under his arm and toward the cooktop. She finds the burners turned low and the fish turned, fried side up. She turns to Kyo, a bemused smirk scrawled across his face.

"I took care of it already," he says, "I wasn't gonna let you burn the house down."

She smiles and the distance between them seems insignificant. She plucks up a spatula from the countertop and begins to prod at the food. She makes her simple, sweet requests in a honey-laden voice and he responds with actions. He scrubs his hands at the sink and lays out plates on the island.

* * *

Dinner transpires as planned, as pleasant as it is uneventful. Rin and Hatsuharu were the first to join them in the kitchen. Haru had pilfered pieces of food with his fingers as they chatted over the kitchen island. Rin, pragmatic as she is, helped Kyo and Tohru set the table. Kagura approached quietly, still clad in her gi, and tried not to make it obvious as she kept a wide berth between herself and Kyo.

Tohru welcomed the lot of them with her warm manner, making space and sparking conversation with zeal. Kyo, like always, sat at her side and eyed each new dinner guest warily. Kazuma was the last to join the fray, and seemed pleasantly surprised at the roundel of Sohmas seated at the table.

Only when he took his seat and paid his thanks with a jovial voice did Kyo and Tohru begin to eat.

It isn't often they entertain the other Sohmas during their weekly dinners at the dojo. Tohru seems excited, if a little overwhelmed, at the attention. Kyo remains nebulously unapproachable until Tohru or Kazuma spare a word and his eye alight with sincerity. It's a beautiful thing, Tohru thinks, to watch his personality reveal itself as he grows comfortable. Of course, it only takes a single snide remark to make him retreat, but she treasures watching him blossom. As he talks with his father, voice dripping with enthusiasm, she sees him. They all do. He's honestly himself for a few precious moments, a flower stretching from the concrete and towards the sun.

Plates clear and conversation stalls. Tohru stands to stack plates on top of each other and Kyo moves to help. Hatsuharu and Rin interject, offering their help instead, and Tohru is both bashful and appreciative. Kagura busies herself with stacking cups, and doesn't look at Kyo as she plucks his from the table. The lot of them disappear behind the noren, and the muffled tones of their voices filter into the dining room.

Kyo visibly relaxes as only he and Kazuma are left at the table.

Creases rise at the corner of Kazuma's eyes as he looks upon his son. His complexion looks healthy, his body strong. He doesn't miss the red spot on his neck, but doesn't mention it either.

"You seem happy, Kyo." He says.

Kyo shrugs with a lopsided smile. "I am, Master."

Kazuma dips a hand into his robe and produces an envelope. He feels the weight of it between his fingers and swallows roughly.

"What's that?" Kyo addresses him a tad more sternly.

Kazuma sighs. "With the curse broken and you and Tohru secure, I figured now was a good time to formally submit the adoption papers. So I did."

Kyo's eyes widen, though he tries to play it off. "Okay."

"They went through."

"Oh."

Kazuma smiles. "Yeah. Imagine my surprise when I received a stipend from the main house a week later."

Kyo's eyes fall to the table, expression forlorn. " _Oh_."

Kazuma slides the envelope across the table. It skitters across the glossy surface and lands at an angle before Kyo. He dares not look at it.

"All of that money belongs to you, Kyo. Your acceptance is enough for me."

Kyo's brow tightens. "I don't want anything to do with that."

"Try to forgive the place it comes from, Kyo," he treads carefully. "At the very least, it'll help with your move. You can even spend it on her."

Kyo's eyes blaze across the table at him. "Yeah? For what? She wouldn't want this either."

Kazuma gives him a knowing look. "I'm sure you can think of at least one thing you'd like to give her."

Kyo's breath catches in his throat. His heartbeat falters.

"Just take it. You don't have to use it -- you can throw it away, if it pleases you. I just want you to know that it's yours."

Kyo closes the letter between his fingers. "I, uh -- thanks."


	3. Mine or Yours?

"Mine or yours?"

"Mm, how about yours?" she posits, "We've done mine for the last three days and I'm worried Yuki will get annoyed."

"Did he say that?"

"No, I'm just thinking."

"Well, if he's pissed off, he can talk to me about it."

"He probably would anyways, don't you think? I don't imagine he'd be very comfortable talking to me about that kind of thing."

"Yeah, you're right. Well, if we're doing mine, you have to tell me if your back hurts."

She waves him off with a smile. "I'll be fine. I slept all by myself in a tent for a week, remember?"

He raises his fist and places the soft of it on her forehead. "That shouldn't be the standard. If something doesn't feel good to you, tell me. I'll fix it."

"What're you guys talking about?" A caustic voice rises from the aether.

Tohru's shoulders rise. The tops of her ears simmer as her cheeks flush. Her fingers clench around Kyo's palm beneath her hand. She turns her head, the sun in her eyes, to face her.

"Uo! H-hi! I didn't hear you walk up." She stutters.

Kyo shakes his head with the slightest of smirks.

Uotani stands above them in the grassy courtyard. White clouds coast by in the sky at her back. Her hair drapes in front of her face and her expression, though obscured by the gleam of the sun, seems increasingly dour. 

"What were you guys talking about?" She repeats. It sounds more like a demand than a question.

Tohru shrugs and raises the side of her hand to her forehead to shield her eyes from the sun. "Oh, that? Well, um, Kyo and I were just talking about whose --”

Kyo wrinkles his brow. "Don't worry what we're up to. Are ya gonna sit down or not?"

Uotani falls to a cross-legged position on the grass. She waggles a finger at Kyo. "But you  _ are _ up to something."

Kyo rolls his eyes. "It's got nothin' to do with you, so lay off."

Hanajima apparates as if from nowhere at all. Her dark curls drift in the breeze, expression inscrutable. She tucks her legs beneath her as she sandwiches in between Tohru and Uotani. She sets a large bento on the ground before her and sets about cracking it open.

"As much as it pains me to admit," she laments, "Carrots is right. Our Tohru is in an adult relationship now, and we can't interfere as much as we'd like. The day is fast approaching when we can't invite ourselves over to chaperone anymore. Legally, anyways."

"I wish you'd stop calling me that." Kyo frowns. “And don't stalk us.”

Tohru smiles despite herself. “I appreciate your concern for me, Uo, Hana, but I'm really very happy. Kyo takes good care of me.”

Uotani plants her hand on her thigh and cranes her neck to peer at the two, shoulders brushing and fingers intertwined in the grass. “' _ Takes good care of you’ _ ?”

Hanajima raises a piece of braised meat to her lips. "Tohru, how vulgar."

Everyone tenses.

"I said lay off!" Kyo protests.

Tohru raises her open hands in front of her, her face awash in pink. "I didn't mean it like that!"

Uotani sticks her small finger in her ear with a cringe. "Ugh, now I've got nasty thoughts runnin' through my head.  _ Thanks _ , Hanajima."

She takes a bite. "You're welcome."

* * *

The bathroom door peels open and releases a rolling cloud of strawberry scented steam into the hallway. A half moon shines its weak light in, illuminating the seams between the floorboards. The house creaks as it settles in for the night. The gentle footfalls of the others occasionally stress the floor and cause it to wheeze.

Tohru emerges. A towel drapes across her shoulders, hair clinging to her face. Her bare feet poke out from the bottom of her pajama pants and pad across the hall as she makes her way to her bedroom.

"Goodnight, Miss Honda," a voice quietly says.

She whirls on her heels toward it.

Yuki leans against his doorframe. His shoulders are squared and he has a fatigued look in his eyes. The features of his face are exaggerated in the pale blue light streaming from the screen of his phone.

"Oh. You're going to bed too?" She replies.

He gives a slanted glance at his phone. A string of messages ping upon its face. "I should, but I'll probably be up late."

Tohru smiles. "So like always."

He smiles weakly back. "Yeah, pretty much."

She begins to weave her hair into plaits. "I'll be sure to be quiet in the morning so I don't disturb you."

He waves her off. "I lose all of my senses completely when I'm asleep. Don't trouble yourself."

"Well, try not to stay up too late, okay? You've got long days ahead with the student council, and it wouldn't be good for the president to fall asleep at his desk." Her fingers work down the length of her hair. "Have a good night, Yuki."

He chuckles. "You too."

His door clicks closed behind him.

She glimpses over her shoulder at Kyo's door across the hall. Its wooden face is still and pristine. A faint glow spills out and onto the floorboards from under the threshold. She imagines him sprawled across the floor on the futon, pecking at his laptop with headphones in his ears. She longs to cross that distance and crawl in beside him, to feel him enfold her in his arms and share his music and spend twenty minutes deciding which show to fall asleep to.

Her chest rises as she draws in a breath. She ties off one of her braids and pats the nape of her neck with her towel. She crosses the threshold into her room and collapses onto her bed. She pulls one of her pillows against her chest and inhales deeply.

Kyo's scent wafts from her pillowcase and envelops her. It's both a comfort and an obstacle. She looks to her bedside table. The clock reads 9:46pm. 

She turns back over with a huff.

Time runs like caramel as she waits. She tries and fails to busy herself with a book. She picks at her fingernails. She glowers at the clock, willing it to pick up speed.

Then it happens. She can hear Shigure's footsteps downstairs as he moves from the office to his bedroom. His door scrapes shut and it rattles the house's bones.

She tiptoes into the hall and pries open the bathroom door. She disappears behind it for half a minute before reemerging, and when she does, his door is open. She steals away inside.

He's there behind the door, smiling down at her. He holds the doorknob in his hand, the other buried in the front pocket of his hooded sweatshirt. His hair frays across his face and clings to his neck and jaw, still damp from his shower. He presses the door soundlessly closed, and makes his way to the futon.

She lifts the duvet for him as he climbs in beside her. His hands come around the sides of her face and he thumbs at the fringe near her temple. His grin is infectious.

"You okay?" He whispers.

She nods. "Better now, but I was getting pretty impatient. I thought about just sneaking over after Yuki closed his door."

He gives a slight smile with a quirk of his brow. "You could have."

"Next time I will."

He presses his mouth to hers. She drowns in the smell of him as it kicks up from the pillows, the down blanket, his clothes, him. Her fingers delve into the hair at the back of his neck. Her thumb traces the shadow his jugular casts upon his flesh. The bridge of his nose nuzzles at her cheek. She can feel his hair against her face. 

His hand falls from her face to the artful curve between her jaw and her shoulder.

He pulls back sooner than she'd like.

"Good," he murmurs. "Did you want to watch something or…? I got your farm game to work on the handheld again, if you wanna play that."

She beams. "Ah! You did?"

He sputters a laugh and shushes her in the same breath. "Yeah, but you can't play if you're gonna be loud."

She presses her hands to her lips. "Right. Sorry."

He snickers and brushes the hair from her face. "You're good."

Kyo plucks the handheld console from the floor and offers it to Tohru. She takes it between her hands and flicks open the screen. He watches through half-mast eyes as fluorescent blues and greens illuminate her face in the darkness. Her eyes are wide with a pure sense of enjoyment that he's not sure he's ever felt himself. He smiles as a sigh escapes him. He wraps an arm around her waist and tugs her closer. He rests his chin in the crook of her neck and watches as she guides a pixelated sprite through a series of menial tasks on-screen. He chortles to himself, closing his eyes. He breathes her in and strokes her side with his fingers.

"Happy?" His lips graze her cheek. The thickness of his voice reverberates from his chest to hers.

He can feel her smile grow. "I'm very happy. Thank you."

"Good."

He's not sure how much time has passed when his eyes flutter awake again. The room is blanketed in the blackness of night. Thin moonlight filters in through the window and rests on the curves of her body like snow. She lays beside him, tucked in close. Their legs lay tangled together beneath a heavy blanket. His arm rises and falls with her breath, still stretched across her torso. Her fingers grasp at his wrist. Her touch is soft but insistent.

"Kyo?" She asks meekly into the dark.

"Mm?" He hums against her skin.

Her fingers take hold of his wrist and draw his hand to her chest. "Will you touch me?"

His blood roils to the surface of his skin. His heartbeat stutters. Sleep crumbles away. Her heart thrums through her clothes into the palm of his hand. His hand floats on the ebb and flow of her breath. She is at his lips, between his legs, beneath his hands, both subject and master of his affections. The knot at his throat bobs as he gulps down a breath. 

"Yeah," he finally says. "O-of course."

He runs his palm across her breast.

Her hands fall above her head on either side of the pillow. Her long brown tresses bound in braids coil around her and spill from the futon onto the floor. Her breath catches in an audible gasp at his touch.

He rubs her in a circular motion with the flat of his hand. He feels the heat of her skin through the fabric of her pajamas. Her nipple forms a subtle peak beneath her shirt, and he focuses his attention there. He draws his hand down her breast and cradles it in his palm. His fingers unfurl and squeeze her through her clothes. He traces his index finger around her nipple, then streaks across it with a calloused fingertip.

"Does that feel good?" He asks, flush to her ear.

She nods with a broken "Mhm."

He lowers his head to her chest and breathes against her. He presses his lips to the top of her breast, kissing her through the fabric. He pecks a path across her chest before parting his lips. Heat pours from his open mouth unto her before he closes his lips around her nipple. He saturates the fabric and swathes it with a few strokes of his tongue.

Her fingers thread through his hair and pull him close. She breathes deeply and exhales a girlish sound. It compels him to press his body to hers and erase the space between them.

His cock stiffens against her outer thigh. His grasp on her breast grows taut. He grazes his teeth against her through her shirt.

She tugs at his hair.

He withdraws his hand and she gives a frustrated mewl of protest. He smirks against her chest, then seals her nipple between his lips. He laps at it with his tongue, tracing slow circles across the sodden fabric at her breast. Something primal rumbles low in his chest. He pops loose a couple of buttons on her shirt.

His hand slides across her bare skin. Her shirt tents at his knuckles as he squeezes her between his fingers. He drags the thick part of his hand, where muscle connects thumb to palm to wrist, across her. His hand skates tight circles around her nipple. He chuckles against her breast as her body writhes under his touch. He rolls her skin between his thumb and forefinger.

She arches her back, pushing her chest into his mouth and the palm of his hand.

He parts from her to draw a silent breath. He raises his head to behold her -- chest half-bare, biting back moans, a halo of braided brown hair curled across the floor like vines of ivy. He flicks free the last of her shirt's buttons and peels the fabric back. He presses a kiss into the curve of her jaw, fingers stroking her breast.

She tilts her head and offers him her neck. He accepts the wordless invitation with a chuckle, obstructed by her flesh at his lips. The tip of his tongue swirls across her skin and his teeth skim shortly after. He divines a spot he likes and clamps down. 

She squeaks. Her fingers tangle in the hair at the back of his head. 

He soothes the skin between his teeth with long-drawn strokes of his tongue. She squirms. Her thighs smear against one another. His fingers lavish her breast with attention, her nipples stiff to the touch as he thumbs one over and over again.

He releases her from his lips. He rakes his fingers down her stomach, watching with intrigue as a field of goosebumps rise on her skin. His fingertips tease at her waistband.

When she opens her eyes, he's looking back at her.

"Please don't stop." 

Her voice sounds so small in the stillness of night.

He looses a wobbly breath. "I won't."

He leans low over her. Her fingers cradle the sides of his face. Their lips meet. His palm lays flat against her belly and his fingers slide beneath her waistband. She can feel the texture of his skin through her underwear, his fingers slipping between her thighs. One of her hands falls to the collar of his sweatshirt and she pulls him close. He traces the length of her slit through the fabric between them. A shiver sparks at the base of his spine as his fingers come away wet. Their lips meld. He drags the pad of his thumb across her clit. 

She cries softly into his mouth, back rising from the floor.

His touch is light against her sensitive, swollen flesh. What little pressure he does apply disperses through the fabric, and weighs on her like gravity. Her breath shallows. She breaches his lips with her tongue and her fingers dig into his scalp. He can't resist. He lengthens in the space between his neck and shoulder, fingers tracing up and down her lips, flicking his thumb rapidly across her. Her cries grow sharper. Her legs stiffen and she tilts her hips up into his hand. 

She breaks from the kiss, a gossamer thread connecting her mouth to his. "Ke-keep doing that. Don't stop."

His forehead meets hers as he nods. His gaze falls beneath a fan of amber eyelashes to the valley between her breasts. He sees the milky whiteness of her stomach as it lay bare. He sees his wrist, too, as it rocks beneath her clothes.

Her breath tapers to a gasp. She pulls him into a messy kiss and her thighs close on his hand. He keeps stroking as her hips buck against his palm. She moans into his mouth and tugs at his hair.

"I'm cumming," she gasps.

It starts with a fluttering, anticipatory feeling deep in her belly that grows and explodes as he spoils her with his hands. Lightning peals through her core and she clamps her eyes shut. Waves of thunder reverberate between her legs in pulse after pulse, each one mightier than the last. Her thighs trap his hand in place as her muscles spasm, belly aglow with the electric energy of release.

Her eyes brim with tears as she blinks them open again. She struggles to catch her breath, face flushed.

He looks at her, adoring and hungry. He’s pulled into her orbit and doesn’t resist. He kisses a tear at the corner of her eye. "Did you like that?"

She shakes loose a delirious laugh. A tear streaks down the side of her face. “It was --  _ you _ are -- I can’t --”

They connect in a lingering kiss. She draws back, his face resting in the bed of her hand. Moonlight glints off the tears caught in her eyelashes. Her eyes shine up at him in the dark.

"I love you." She softly says.

He smooths her hair across her forehead. "I love you too. So much."

He shifts onto his knees. He tugs his sweatshirt over his head and casts it to the floor. She watches, captivated, as he reveals his bare chest to her. Even in the dark, she can make out the ridges that run from his hips and disappear beneath his shorts. Moonlight glances off the hills of hard muscle that tighten and relax on his abdomen as he breathes. Soft dimples form in his shoulders as he tugs her pants and underwear down her legs. They're dragged off the side of the futon and rest in a pile next to the handheld console.

He rests on his stomach between her legs, the duvet draped across his shoulders. She can feel his breath roll over her. His gaze is intense but his touch is gentle. His fingertips make the slightest of dimples in her skin as he holds her thighs.

"Can I take care of you?"

"You don't have to--"

He tilts his head ever so slightly and his hair sweeps across his forehead. "I want to."

His voice moves through her. She shivers.

"Okay."

He moves to hold her hips in his hands. He massages his rough palms into the skin that lay there, and kisses his way between her thighs. Her heart hammers at her chest. He breathes flush against her. She peers down to find him gazing back up at her. Her cheeks burn. Her fingers tighten around the lapel of her open pajama shirt. She shuts her eyes.

His kiss is like a ripple on the water. It comes chaste and tender between her legs. His thumb strokes rhythmically at her hip. His lips brush against her. His hair tickles the skin at the top of her thighs. She focuses on the movement of his thumb, and tries to relax.

Then heat. He slowly licks her, starting at her entrance and flicking up at her clit. She squeezes with her thighs and his fingers squeeze back. He tries the motion again and she whimpers. She can feel him watching her, even in the dark, even with her eyes closed. Her stomach knots.

He teases her. He traces faint shapes against her clit with the tip of his tongue. He parts her lips agonizingly slow. He prods at her center, first playful, then insistent. She raises her feet unto his back and sprawls her arms overhead.

His fingernails press half moons into her hips. He buries his tongue inside her. His breath is erratic. She tilts her hips up for him. Her feet cross at his back and her toes curl. Her mouth is open but no sound comes. Her cries snag in the back of her throat. 

One hand retreats and his lips pull away with a smack. His tongue roves over her clit, one lash after another with growing fervor. She can feel his fingers push at her teasingly. He fucks her by centimeters at first, before sinking slowly inside.

The house is silent in the dead of night, she's sure, but Kyo's room is a quiet kind of chaos. She holds back as best she can, but a few desperate sounds break free. Her fingers knot in his hair and yank him towards her. Her hips rock against his face, against his hands, her body begging. He groans between her legs and sets her nerves alight. His fingers pump into her over and over again with a wet sound that fills the space beyond them. He grinds against the futon -- anything to relieve the pressure.

Her knees point into the air, feet planted between his shoulder blades. Her muscles strain against her skin. His fingers drive harder. He sucks her clit between his lips. Stars are born and burst behind her eyelids.

Her hips jerk frantically against his face. His fingers make pace. He licks her through closed lips. A moan rumbles from his chest and tips her over the edge.

" _ Kyo _ !"

Her climax is an earthquake. It starts in the deep of her belly and ripples throughout her entire body. Her walls quake and close against his moving fingers. She throbs beneath his tongue. Her legs tremor and her fingers and toes dig in, wherever they lay. She holds onto him with everything within her as her world crumbles and is reborn inside her. When she opens her eyes, she is trembling.

His body eclipses hers and she is enveloped in the safety of his embrace and the duvet at his back. He works his shorts down his hips and kicks them off onto the floor. He nudges her legs open with his knee. Strain and something like intoxication cloud his eyes, tighten his brow.

" _ Fuck _ …" he seethes through his teeth as he buries himself inside her. He shuts his eyes and the expression on his face is nothing short of exaltation.

His worship lives in the wetness on his fingers. It is the way he smooths his hand across her inner thigh before pinning it to the floor. It is the long breath he steals at her neck. It is the greedy thrust of his hips. It is his eyes straining against the dark to watch her naked body as he gives and gives and gives to her.

She wraps her arms around his neck. She raises her hips to meet him.

He hangs his head and whispers in her ear. "It feels too good, Tohru. I-I can't."

She presses a kiss into the curve of his jaw. "Then cum for me."

He clamps his teeth down over his lip. His fingers dig into her thighs. He grinds into her hard for one stroke. Another. Once more.

He hangs his head and relinquishes himself to her. He lets go. Everything feels submerged, as if in water, as he gives himself over. He can hear his own voice panting and gasping. He can feel her fingernails scraping against his neck. His heart pounds a dull drumbeat as his stomach soars and his body quakes. The heat from inside her consumes him, surrounds him. He forgets his room, forgets the world. He is hers and hers alone. His hips jerk. He is empty and full, all at the same time.

He collapses atop her, chest heaving, cheeks flushed. He gazes across the short distance between his face and hers and smiles. She smiles back.

"Thank you," she softly says.

He shakes his head. "No thanks necessary. I'm yours."

She rubs circles into his back. She yawns. She's fading fast. "I'm yours, too."

Her fingers unfurl across his back and her eyes close. He joins her.

"Goodnight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tohru enjoys being spoiled by Kyo as much as he loves spoiling her. I imagine Tohru would love casual farming Sim games like Story of Seasons and Stardew Valley, so I thought it would be a cute and very personal touch to have that be something she gets to do when she's spending time with Kyo. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please leave me a kudo and/or a comment! I'm always delighted to receive them.


	4. Oh. It's You.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written over a week that saw both lightning storms and forest fires. It brought me comfort, and I hope it does the same for you.

It's a cold and cloudy afternoon. Heavy grey clouds loom over skyscrapers and cast long shadows on the ground. The earth is tamped down and dark from morning rain. A pleasant smell rises from the soil and the asphalt and dances throughout the city. Wind whirls down the sidewalks, mussing hair and reddening cheeks.

Tohru tugs her cardigan closer. She's nearly there.

She passes beneath the open gate of the dojo's courtyard, and skips a little as she approaches the deck. She scans the area for his shoes -- was it the orange sneakers or the white ones, today? She nibbles at the inside of her lip. 

They're not there.

She hears the door slide open, and she snaps to attention. A child and their parents emerge from the doorway, slip on their shoes, and make their way onto the street. Behind them, a petite figure darkens the doorway. Pink fingernails rest on the doorframe.

"Oh." She says, "It's you."

Her tone is neither cloying nor combative. Tohru doesn't know how to read the dispassionate look in her eyes. Her narrow frown is indecipherable. 

Heat rises to her ears, her stomach hollows, and something boils to the surface.

"Hello, Kagura." Tohru replies. The words taste bitter on her tongue. 

She's surprised herself.

* * *

They're thankful for the rattle of the walls against the wind to fill the silence between them. Waiter boils in the kitchen, kettle quaking on the stove. A smattering of rain blots down on the roof. Men's voices -- almost certainly Kazuma and Kunimitsu -- chat back and forth somewhere in the dojo, but their words blur with distance. 

Tohru looks at her across the table, but her gaze is fixed on the floor.

It wasn't long before today that they sat at this same table and partook in a meal together with some of the Sohma family members. Tohru had noticed even then that she wouldn't look her in the eyes. She'd had nothing to say either. In the kitchen at clean up, she'd spoken only to Rin and Hatsuharu. She struggles to remember if she'd noticed any sidelong looks at Kyo. If she'd seen it, she'd have remembered.

She lays her hands out on the table. "What time did he say he would be back?"

Kagura presses her cheek into her shoulder with a shrug. "I don't know. He said he wouldn't be gone long, but that was almost an hour ago."

"Did he say where he was going? I can go meet him there."

Another shrug. "He just said he had to pick something up. I'm sure he'll turn up any minute now."

Tohru's brow creases. "But today's a rainy day. He may be feeling tired. Did you see which direction he headed? Maybe he told Master Kazuma --"

"He'll be back." She says. Her voice is quiet but firm. "You'll make him worry if you go looking."

Tohru gives a weak smile. "Yes, that's true."

The kettle shrieks to life and Tohru slips into the kitchen. She reemerges with a tray of hot tea in Master Kazuma's handmade cups, short and thick. She deposits one of them in front of Kagura, then wanders into the hall. Sounds of surprise honey the air, and she returns to the table sometime later with only the tray and her own cup.

"Did Teacher know?" Kagura asks.

Tohru raises the cup to her lips and blows cool air across its surface. "He and Kunimitsu said they didn't know anything about it, but I'm not sure I believe them."

"Yeah?"

Tohru smiles into her cup. "Yeah. I think I have some idea what it might be about, but I don't want to push it."

Kagura plays idly with her fingers. "Oh."

Tohru watches her from across the table. She watches her shift in her seat. She watches how she pushes back her cuticles with her fingers. She watches her take a sip of tea, set it down, then sip again.

"I'm not mad at you, Kagura." She says. 

She feels a phantom sting at her cheek. She remembers the sound her own body made as it fell to the floor. She remembers the look of rage and bewilderment on Kagura's face that day. She was red. Her hair clung to her forehead as sweat dripped down her face. Part of her is forever suspended in memory like that, hurting and angry.

She doesn't look up. "There's nothing to be mad about."

Something roars in her chest but Tohru drowns it with a gulp of tea. "Actually, I think there's a lot to be mad about."

Kagura's head rises. She finally meets her eyes.

"I'm mad about you hitting me, but I understand why you did it. I'm mad that you screamed -- mad that you made Rin so upset. But I'm not mad at you. Honestly, I think you had a good reason to do it." Tohru chuckles. "I might have responded a little differently, but you did what you did and I'm not going to question it."

"Good. I'm not sorry." She says.

Tohru takes a long sip of her tea. "Neither am I."

Kagura reluctantly takes a drink of her own.

"I hope you have a really good life, Kagura," she quietly says, "And that you enjoy the freedom you have now to do whatever you like without the curse hanging over your head."

Kagura furrows her brow. "Really?"

She nods and sets her cup back down. "Really. You deserve that."

"So you don't hate me?"

"Not at all." She says. "Actually, I'm curious to see what you'll do next."

Kagura's face is blank as she ingests what she's been told. She rubs at her arm with her hand. "I'm working now. It's part time, so I can be here at the dojo, but it's nice to be useful. Y'know?"

Tohru grins. "I do. I felt the same way about my part time job."

Kagura's cheeks flush and she fixes a grave expression on her face. She slaps the palm of her hand atop the table and stares Tohru down across it. "Ugh! You have to be good to him. All the time. Even when he's irritable and impatient and distant. He gets like that sometimes, but he'll still need you to be there. When you move away, he can't go and see Teacher whenever he wants. He won't have anyone but you, so you have to be there for him. Remember that."

Concern creases between her eyebrows, then gives way to a gentle expression. The smile she gives is gentle. Her eyes are warm. She thinks only of him. "I will."

She's unrelenting. A great sorrow is hardly contained behind her eyes. "You have to promise!"

Tohru nods. "I do! I promise."

Kagura falls back onto her knees with a huff. She takes a long swig of her tea. "Well, good."

"Kagura."

She wrinkles her nose, face reddened. " _ What _ ?"

"Thank you for caring so much about Kyo," Tohru says. A tight feeling seizes her by the chest. It's complex. The skin burns at her face and on her ears. Her fingers ball into fists. Her stomach feels heavy. Her heart gallops. She feels like she might take hold of Kagura's hand but also like she might scream. "I think it's helped him more than you know."

"Yeah." Kagura smears her sleeve across her face. "Maybe."

"And whether you trust me or not, I'm going to love him and make him feel safe. Wherever we go. All the time." She says firmly, "So that isn't something you need to worry about anymore."

A harsh expression sours her face, but she nods all the same.

They finish their tea in silence, alone together. Their eyes meet across the table. It is uncomfortable, but neither looks away. Rain pelts down on the rooftop. In the kitchen, the kettle whistles no more.

The front door slides open and a gust fills the space. Kyo stands in the open doorway, his hair wet and clinging to his skin. His coat collar stands against his neck. Its fabric drapes across his shoulders. His bookbag is slung over his shoulder, and one of his hands is stuffed in his pocket. His cheeks and nose are red from wind-chill.

"Tohru!" He says, his tone delighted, surprised, and urgent in equal measure. "Sorry to keep you waiting. Let's go home."

Already nearing the door, Tohru moves to toe on her shoes. He nudges them toward her while pulling his jacket down one arm.

"Shit. Your sweater's gonna get soaked. Here." He holds the olive canvas between his hands and eases it onto her. "You ready? I didn't mean to interrupt."

Tohru smiles and wraps his coat around her frame. Her fingers poke out from under the sleeves. She spares a glance over her shoulder to the table, her hair spilling down her back and across the fabric of his coat.

"Kagura, did you want help cleaning up?" She asks.

Kagura shakes her head. Her lips are pressed into a tight line. "It's fine, I got it."

"Oh. Thank you!"

Kyo gives a slight wave. "Uh, thanks."

She returns it. "Go home before you catch a cold, dummy."

They turn to leave, two silhouettes in the doorway. He stands beside her and offers her his hand. She threads her fingers through his and tugs his jacket closer to her body. He yanks closed the front door in a single, fluid motion. The two of them disappear into the world outside.

Kagura raises her teacup to her lips.

* * *

The keys are wet when he fumbles with them in his hand. His school uniform is soaked with rainwater and it clings to his body. He blinks away rain drops and laughs at himself as he struggles to steady his hands against the cold.

She's standing beside him in the gray early evening. Her bangs are plastered to her forehead, face flushed. She laughs along with him as she hops from foot to foot. Rain pelts them from above. An arc of lightning lights up the sky, grabbing her attention.

He gives a triumphant sound as he turns the key in the front door. 

Thunder rumbles from somewhere in the heavens and sweeps across the earth below.

The door swings open and he pulls her inside.

He kicks off his shoes, soles squeaking against the floorboards. He sets his bookbag gingerly on its side. His fingers pull himself free of his button-down and he peels it off his chest. He hikes his tee shirt up his stomach and pulls it over his head before letting it slosh into a wet heap on the floor. He smooths a hand up his forehead, brushing the hair from his face. He looks down at her as she shrugs his coat from her shoulders and lets it pool at her feet.

"Take off your clothes," he advises, gathering the pile in his arms. "I'll throw 'em in the laundry. You can head upstairs and shower."

She hands him her cardigan and rolls her socks down her legs. "Can I shower with you instead?"

His heart rams against his chest. "Wh-what?"

She tosses her socks onto the bundle in his arms and works her shirt overhead. "Would that be okay?"

He steps in front of her to shield her body from view. "Whoa! Hang on a sec. What if someone comes through here?"

Her hands halt at the waistband of her skirt. She looks up at him, confusion etched into her features. She shivers, standing there on the wood floor, disheveled and wet. Her face is flushed, her body half-naked.

"Oh, I guess I forgot to tell you." She mutters.

He furrows his brow. "Tell me what?"

"Shigure left a note saying he left for the main house and won't be back until the weekend, and Yuki's staying the night at his girlfriend's place."

Kyo's shoulders slacken. "So we're alone?"

She nods. "Yeah! It's just you and me tonight."

"Oh. Well, shit." He says under his breath.

"Huh?"

He shifts the laundry into the crook of one arm and tosses Tohru over his shoulder. He stabilizes her with one hand and pinches at her beneath her skirt as she kicks at the air.

"Hey!" She cries as he carries her down the hallway. "Where're we going?"

He tears open the shower room door and hefts their wet clothes into the hamper. "You wanted to shower together, right?"

He lowers her to her feet. All bravado leaves him as she looks up into his eyes. The warmth of her brown irises are amplified by the honey-colored wood walls and floors in the space all around them.

"I-It's okay if you changed your mind or somethin'."

She blinks up at him and pushes the hair from her face with the heel of her hand. "No, I really want to!"

He smirks. "Okay. Jeez. If I knew your plan was to get naked with me, I would've run home a lot faster."

She chuckles. She works her skirt over her hips and kicks it to the floor. "Well, I didn't  _ plan _ it, but I'm glad it turned out this way. Turn on the water, please. I'm cold."

She unclasps her bra behind her back and tosses it toward the hamper.

She admires the grooves of his muscles as he steps beside the showerhead and tugs the handle. He backs away mindfully, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. He pulls them down his hips and tows his underwear along with them.

Her eyes are wide. She dares not look away. She's seen him before in varying states of undress. She's seen him naked plenty of times, too, but always in the context of him regaining his human form or in stolen moments behind closed doors. Here, he stands before her under the warm glow of lamplight. Thick water vapor builds at their feet and fills the room. His skin is golden, his hands capable and strong. He works the last of his clothes to floor, and deposits them into the laundry hamper. He looks back at her, a blush dusting his cheeks and something self-conscious in his eyes.

She goes to him.

She lifts her hands to his face. She brushes his hair behind his ears and rises to her toes. She presses kisses to his cheeks, his jaw, his chin, his lips. She feels him close his eyes, lashes tickling her skin, and he lowers his head to receive her attention. His hands come around her hips. His fingers hook under the elastic of her underwear and pull.

"You're gonna ruin your clothes." he mumbles, pushing it down her hips.

His fingers draw lines down her legs and she steps out of her underwear. She watches him cast it away, and stands before him, bare. "I-I guess I forgot I was wearing them. You took off all your clothes and I--"

He rises. He presses his forehead to hers and breathes in the smell of rainwater from her skin. His fingers scrape gently at her back. "Silly."

She pulls him into a kiss, nodding. "I am."

Their bodies meet. His arms tighten around her, her chest flush against his bare skin. She rakes her fingers up his back and finds roost someplace between his shoulder blades. She can feel him comb his fingers through her hair behind her back. He tilts his head and opens his lips to her.

She accepts. They tangle together as the water warms behind them.

Steam fills the room. Warm condensation forms on the surface of his skin and rains down the shape of him. She watches a rivulet build beneath his ear and trace the curve of his jaw, the tendons in his neck. She kisses him there.

She feels him against her low belly. A swarm of butterflies burst from her stomach. She rubs her thighs together.

He takes a step forward. She steps back to accommodate. They dance this way, one foot after the other, until hot water cascades over her head and dribbles down her body. She tilts out of the way of the showerhead and watches as the circle of water pours against his chest. He bobs his head beneath the spray, then smooths his hair down the back of his head. He looks at her, grinning.

She grins back. "Would it be all right if I washed you?"

His face falls. He feels warm in lots of ways, but he can't put a name to any of them. A list of responses stream through his head. Each one feels stupid and insufficient. He looks at her, brows knotted in confusion. His reply is caged behind an idle frown.

And she's standing there beside him. Her cheeks are a radiant shade of red. Water smatters her from the side, ricocheting from his body onto hers. Her hair is slick. It flows like water across her skin, tracing the slope of her shoulders and the curves of her breasts.

"I'm sorry," she says, bashful. "Maybe that's too much too fast. It's just the first time I've been able to, um, to look at you like this, and I thought it would be nice to--"

He starts. "It  _ would _ be nice."

She creases her brow. "Please don't feel pressured to say yes. I-It was just a thought."

"I  _ want _ you to do that, Tohru." He runs his hand across his face. "My brain just sorta stopped working because I -- you're naked in the shower with me and it's kind of surreal."

"In a good way, though, right?"

He nods with a laugh. "In a very good way. Yeah."

She lathers shampoo in her hands and raises them as he bows his head for her. She works her fingers through his hair, and delights as the familiar scent fills the air. She grabs the showerhead and rinses the soap from his orange locks. She combs through his hair with her fingers and watches the sudsy water slip through her hands.

He rises to full height again, hair framing his face. "Thanks."

"Did that feel good?" She posits with a smile.

He nods, a little more reserved than she's used to seeing him.

She plucks a washcloth from the shower caddy and soaks it under the water. She works his bar soap to a lather and deposits it back into place. He squares his shoulders a little and closes his eyes as she glides the rag from his neck to his shoulder. She rubs circles there before soaping his biceps and forearms. She takes his large hand in hers and rubs the rag over each of his fingers. She traces nebulous shapes into his palm, inches up his wrist, and repeats with his other arm.

When he opens his eyes to see her, she's gazing softly at his body. Her expression is relaxed and easy, her lips laid softly together in neither a smile, nor a frown. His heart swells as he watches her study him.

She streaks the rag across his chest. She kneads her fingers into the dense muscles there. Her palm lays flat against his skin as she melts her hand from chest to stomach. She caresses his abdomen. She slakes down his navel, strokes the slope of his hips. She halts at his low belly. She blinks up at him.

"Can I?" She asks softly.

He nods. "Yeah, it's okay."

He places his hand over hers and guides her. He feels the washcloth against him, feels her fingers' grasp underneath. He leads her in a soft and painterly stroke there, through the wiry hair that lay. The fabric flows over the tensed muscles where his hips meet his thighs. She takes him in her hand and he breathes through his heartbeat's haste.

His gaze falls to the narrow space between them, watching her hands. One plants against his upper thigh, fingers pointing down. The other gently pumps him. He tugs the washcloth from her hands and encourages her to continue with a peck on the forehead. She does.

He soaps up the fabric and turns his attention on her.

She smiles broadly as his hand molds to her shape through the cloth. He mimics her motions, traveling the length of her shoulders and arms, though he avoids her hands for fear her touch might stop. He follows the arc from her ribs to her hips, enamored by the way his palm sinks into her waist. He scrubs circles against her rear and teases down her thighs. Intrepid fingers dip between her legs from behind, and pull back.

She scrapes her lower lip through her teeth. Frustrated. Her grip tightens. Her pace picks up. 

His breath is caught in his throat.

He spreads his fingers across her stomach and pushes up to the hollow between her breasts. He drapes the cloth over one and relishes in the feel of it in his hand. He thumbs over her nipple through the washcloth, watching her expression intently. Her mouth falls open and a soft moan pours out. He grabs her with his other, unequipped hand, biting his tongue as her heart beats into his palm.

He glimpses down again, watching the swollen head of his cock emerge from her grasp. She rolls her thumb over the top, and a sticky thread comes away with it. He shudders. His hands grip her tighter. She responds in kind. He watches as she pulls at him, up and up towards her belly.

"Oh fuck," he sighs, lolling his head back.

He rests his back against the wall, hips rocking into her hand. He lets one hand slip from her chest and rest upon her hip. He presses into her skin through his fingertips, thoughtlessly towing her in.

His eyes close. He relishes the feeling of being closed in her hand, warm and wet. Time unravels like ribbons from her hair. He's felt her like this before, shuddered as her hand disappears beneath his clothes. She's put him at ease, put him on edge, and made him wild like this so many times before. This moment is one in a million -- a billion, if he's lucky -- but he chases after it endlessly.

He feels the specter of her touch through his hair and across his body. Nobody's ever washed him before. Not like this. What he would do to keep her hands on him forever.

His stomach lurches. His muscles stiffen. He snatches a breath from the thickness of the air, and pulls out of her reach. He steadies himself in one hand, the other propping himself up on the wall.

"Are you okay?" She asks. The worry on her face pains him to see.

His breath comes belabored. He throbs in his hand. "Y-yeah. More than okay, actually. I'm, uh, really close. That's all."

Her eyes widen. She can't suppress her smile. "Oh. Oh! Can we…?"

He raises his eyebrows with a grin. "Only if you want to."

She rests a hand upon his chest. "I do."

His heartbeat quickens and his pupils dilate. He averts his eyes -- suddenly, excruciatingly aware of himself. He swells in the palm of his hand.

She tilts her head, brows knit. "Kyo?"

He nods and draws his attention back home. He looks at her and she looks back. In her eyes, he feels empowered. He feels weak, too. Never more certain, never more unsure. What a blessing, her attention. He reaches out to her, his thumb to her cheek. He'd hold her for eternity if she'd let him.

"Come 'ere." The words come so quiet, he can hardly hear himself over the water.

She does.

He hoists her up in his arms, hands spread beneath her thighs. He eases his back against the wall once more, balancing her weight in the bed of his hands. 

Her fingers lace together behind his neck. She plants her feet on the wall behind him. She looks up at him as the water rains down on them both. She can see him trace her features with his eyes, flitting between her own, lingering on her lips, sweeping across her clavicles, and falling lower still. He meets her gaze again, brows tense and some powerful feeling welling in his stare. His fingers imbed in her skin. He lifts her up and gnashes his lip between his teeth. His gaze falls to the space between them.

She drops one hand to hold him in it. His body tenses. He holds his breath. She positions him between her legs and strokes softly, pushing him inside.

His chest rises as he draws a silent breath through his nose. He totters on his heels. His muscles ache beneath his skin, fighting the urge to slam her into his lap. His fingernails press in. His blood surges so much he can feel it in his ears.

He pulses in the palm of her hand. She tightens her hold on him and sinks him in.

His breath leaves him with a snarl. His muscles go taut and he wrenches her body down onto him. He grinds his hips against her, one hand holding her in place while the other pushes in on her low back. He shuts his eyes and tries to capture all he can of the feeling inside her. She's the closest to heaven he's ever felt.

" _ God _ ," he chokes out as he tears her away for just a moment. He slams her back down. He throws his head back.

Her hands anchor at his shoulders. She feels his skin rend under her nails as they dig in where they lay. She closes her eyes. She presses into the wall through the tips of her toes as he wrenches her back and forth. Their bodies connect with a dense slap. Water splashes between them and trickles down her sides. She feels tangibly whole as he plunges inside of her. He angles his hips, rocks hungrily against her in pursuit of being closer. She rocks back. She, too, wants nothing more than to be close -- impossibly, intoxicatingly closer. 

She moans as his palm at her back draws her in and his hips buck up into her.

His breath comingles with the hot water vapor and it fans across her bare chest. Their voices echo in the great, wide emptiness of the wetroom. His voice rumbles in his chest and bounds off the walls. Flowers bloom in the depths of her belly at the sound of him.

Her eyes fly open as he whirls around and pins her back against the wall. He hikes her legs over his shoulders and stuffs himself in deep. She drags her nails across his middle back. Her head raps against the wall as he rams into her, a dull ache that won't register til later. Her stomach hollows and she tilts her hips into his every thrust. She sinks her fingernails into his skin and moans into his neck. His hand snakes between their bodies to stroke at her clit. She cries out, enraptured.

"Tohru," he says low in her ear as he buries himself inside her.

His thrusts come short and frantic. He jerks his hips tight against her. He pins her to the wall, his thumb kneading between her legs. The pressure builds.

"Tohru." He says again.

It starts as a feeling -- a seed of panic and excitement deep in her belly. She hardly has time to recognize it before it's grown too big to manage. It wracks her body from the inside out, spiraling out in seizures of her every muscle. Her fingertips and toes feel like white noise. She hears only the sound of his voice. Hot water trickles over their skin and blends at the connection between them. 

How devastating. She loses all sense of herself. Pure joy radiates from her core outward. The stress of chasing that feeling with every ounce of her body's effort eases. How necessary.

She holds onto him in any way her body can. Her fingers dig. Her ankles cross behind his head. Her arms pull him in. Her muscles cinch closed around the length of him. The waves of her climax throttle him, captive between her legs.

He trembles in her grasp. His hips still. The touch of his thumb softens to nothing and he locks his his arms around her. His fingers tangle in her hair. He tucks his chin into her shoulder and moans as he shoots inside of her. 

The shudders subside as her body relaxes. Hot water dilutes the mess that dribbles down her thighs. They break their embrace by inches to crash into a kiss. She pushes the hair from his face and caresses his jaw with her hand. He racks his arms behind her back and lets her legs wrap behind his. They pull apart once more, forehead to forehead, eye to eye.

She smiles. He does too.

* * *

They race each other upstairs wrapped in towels and laughing like children. They barrel into his room and tumble onto the futon. She drops her towel down around her waist and they kiss, exhilarated.

They lounge there, naked and sheltered in close beneath the covers, until hunger summons them to the kitchen. He throws on a pair of joggers and a clean t-shirt. She wears his black hooded sweatshirt and nothing else. 

He likes that.

They heat up the dinner she'd prepared after school and eat at the table like they always do. They chat amiably about schoolmates and assignments. They exchange longings for the weekend. Conversation peters to nothing and Tohru rakes her chopsticks against her plate.

"Kyo?"

"What's up?" He asks, resting his face in the palm of his hand.

She looks at him. "Where did you go, today?"

He quirks a brow. "You mean after the dojo?"

She nods.

He smiles, reaches toward her, and tucks her hair behind her ear. "I'll tell you all about it when I can."

She narrows her eyes and presses her cheek into his hand. "Was it for something good?"

He shakes his head. "I can't tell you yet."

She frowns. "Why not?"

He leans to kiss her forehead, hands resting on her shoulders. 

"It's a surprise."

He doesn't budge and she doesn't press. They wash and dry the dishes side by side. They curl up together in the living room and watch the storm churn over the city. He plays with her hair the way he always does. She warms her hands beneath the hem of his shirt, the way she always does.

There is no plotting or sneaking as she leads him to her bedroom for the night. The door closes. Her bed squeaks. The house rests, and so do they.


	5. Someone's At the Door

He pushes his hand up her chest and spreads his fingers across her throat. He steels his nerves as he bites his lip. 

She looks up at him through eyes half-hooded. Her voice vibrates in the palm of his hand. She grabs onto her pillow, arms splayed overhead. She moves with him as he pushes inside.

His other hand holds her by the thigh, pinning her to the mattress. One knee hooked over his bare shoulder, her legs open wide to take him in. His hands feel rough. His grip is tight. He strains not to let his eyes close, to let this feeling overtake him.

The bed thumps against the wall to the rhythm he's set. He rears back and crashes his hips into her. The wall rumbles as the bedframe raps against it.

He digs into the mattress on his toes and plunges in deep. A moan oozes from his chest. He repositions his hand and pushes her thigh up. He lays down on top of her. His body is so close, his breath feels like her own. Sweat drips from his chest and trickles down her leg onto hers.

He grinds into her in a concentrated tempo. The space between them is at once both nonexistent and insufferable. He knots his hand in her hair and holds her in place, just to look at her. He watches her moan. He watches her eyes roll back and her cheeks blush. He fucks her and studies her face as she loses herself to feeling.

She weaves her hands into his hair on either side of his head. She can't bring herself to look away, though her chest heaves and her body longs for release. Her head aches as he pulls at her hair. She pulls at his. They move together, their stare unbroken. His breath spills out across her lips. His brow is set, eyes narrowed. A bead of sweat bleeds down his cheek.

He wrenches his hips into hers, forceful and deliberate. His pace spirals into desperation. His muscles go taut. He molds himself to her, humping vehemently as he spills everything he has inside. They pull each other into a kiss to soften their voices. He moans into her mouth as he stuffs himself inside of her, body trembling.

He rocks against her as sparks fly across his skin. He breathes laboriously. His lips meld to hers. He holds her tight in his hands and in his arms as he chases her climax with his body, nearly spent.

He breaks their kiss to press his lips close against her ear. He sighs and moans, raising her hips with every motion of his own. He whispers hot in her ear as he tugs at her hair. He twitches inside of her, and her body stiffens beneath him. 

A breath snags in her throat with a gasp. Her legs close around him, fingers burying in his hair. Her eyes finally close and she cries. She holds him in place as she quakes around him, taking him for everything he has to give.

He's happy to oblige. 

He presses kisses to her temple and her cheeks as she comes down.

Her hands are frantic as they come around the back of his head and his shoulder. She anchors herself to him with her fingertips. She heaves through her breath as she stares up at him. Sweat mats her hair to her face. A delightful shade of pink rises from her chest up to her cheeks.

Reality comes back in degrees. Sounds of a television show filter in from Kyo's laptop, opened and unattended on the floor. The volume is kicked up to maximum, an attempt to stifle the sounds of sex. Cool air washes over them from the half-open window. Downstairs, footsteps fall on the hardwood floor. Persistent knocking, too.

"Someone's at the door." Yuki's voice rings out.

The knocking continues until the door creaks open.

"Uh, Shigure? Ayame and Hatori are here," he calls.

Kyo smears his cheek across Tohru's forehead and groans. "Ugh. _No_."

She strokes his shoulder. "We should go down and see them. It'll be fun."

He mumbles into her hair. "They're probably here for Yuki. Let's just stay up here."

"If we don't go, he'll come up here."

He sighs. "I can't wait to fuckin' move."

He lets her hair fall between his fingers. He rises onto his arms and sets his jaw as he pulls out. He pecks her on the lips before rising from the bed. He tosses her her clothes from the floor before pulling his pants up and over his hips. He shrugs on his t-shirt and silences his laptop with a tap of his fingers.

She slips her arms into either side of her shirt dress and stands unsteadily on her feet. He offers her a towel. She takes it in her hands and relieves herself of the sticky mess they've made. He steps forward and fastens the buttons on her dress for her.

"Oh, thank you." She says, surprised.

He nods and brushes the fabric down across her front. He smooths the hair at the top of her head and kisses her there. His voice is soft.

"Was I too rough?"

She shakes her head and takes his hand. "No, I really liked it, actually."

He twirls her hair between two fingers. "You sure? Your head's okay? I didn't pull your hair too hard?"

She throws open her bedroom door and guides him out into the hall. "I feel great! I'll tell you if something doesn't feel good, just like you said."

"Okay, good."

He steps in her shadow as she leads him down the stairs. Her fingers, so small compared to his, weave between his. Their palms kiss. Her steps are near silent and dainty -- she bounds on the balls of her feet like a dancer on happy days. Her hair sways behind her and grazes her low back. There are kinks in the back where she rubbed against the mattress, but still she looks graceful. 

His heart soars as she looks back at him over her shoulder. He's never felt so tremendous and so small. For her, he'd do anything -- be anything. Anything to please her.

They round the corner to the living room, and Ayame's voice precedes him.

"Tohru!" He shrieks. "My darling, precious girl. Come sit."

He sits cross-legged at the table, white hair flowing like milk down his back. He fans his arms out wide. His colored fingernails catch sunlight from the window. His voice is as massive as his presence, subsuming most everything in his wake. He looms so large, one hardly notices the other three men in the room.

Yuki sits adjacent, shoulders pitched. His expression reads only a tinge of annoyance -- an improvement. Hatori drowns himself in a cup of black coffee beside him. Shigure sits across the table, nursing a cup of his own.

Tohru shrugs bashfully. "Ayame! It's wonderful to see you. I'd sit, but I should really put something together for you and Hatori to eat."

Shigure waves the thought off with a flick of his wrist. "No need, I ordered in. Enjoy yourself."

She lingers in Kyo's grasp just a little longer before she pulls away. They take seats opposite each other, Tohru at Ayame's side and Kyo at the empty portion of the table with Shigure on one flank and Yuki and Hatori on the other. He watches as Ayame pulls a comb from his pocket and idly picks at Tohru's hair.

Tohru hikes her shoulders a little, startled by his touch. "Ah! Ayame, are you very excited for your wedding? Next weekend will be here before you know it."

He smiles broadly. "Thank you, my dear, you're the first to ask me today. I'm ecstatic about my impending nuptials, yes, though a part of me will mourn my passionate late-night trysts with 'Gure."

Shigure gives him a sultry look across the table. "Who says they have to end?"

Hatori stands, briefcase in hand. "Thanks for the coffee, but I'd rather wait in the car."

Both Ayame and Shigure reach out for Hatori and will him to return to his seat. "It was a joke, Hatori! Don't be such a wet blanket."

He sits back down reluctantly. His hands move to the briefcase at his side and snap it open. He produces a stethoscope and a small flashlight. He loops the stethoscope around his neck.

"In that case, I'll at least get some work done until you've tired of subjecting these children to your nonsense." He turns his attention to Yuki. "May I?"

Yuki sighs and turns toward him. He flinches as cold metal meets his chest through his shirt. "Get it over with, I guess."

Ayame draws the comb down the length of Tohru's hair. "Speaking of children, Yuki, did you receive my gift? I wanted to celebrate your foray into the realm of desire and fantasy."

Yuki's mouth widens into a venomous smile. His voice drips with disdain. "Y'know, Ayame, I did."

Ayame chuffs. "Marvelous. Did you share your joy with dear Machi? What did she think?"

Yuki tilts his head. "She didn't get a chance to admire the roses, actually."

Shigure smirks. "Don't tell me you threw them away."

He wrinkles his nose ever so slightly. "I put them in the compost so at least something productive could come of his filth. And before you say anything, don't you dare send her anything either."

Ayame shrugs. "Why so bitter, dear brother? Has it been a while since the last you felt your lover's embrace?"

Yuki's grin broadens as his tone grows more menacing. "Another word about her and I'll break all your fingers, dear brother."

Hatori chides him with an outstretched hand. "Yuki, your heart rate."

He beams. "It'll go back to normal as soon as he shuts his mouth, I'm sure."

Ayame sets the comb on his lap. He bunches Tohru's hair between his hands and begins weaving it down her back. "Tohru, tell me about your romance. My darling brother is feeling needlessly bashful about his own."

"If you think this is bashfulness, I really don't know what to tell you." Yuki chides with a sigh.

She reddens and locks eyes with Kyo across the table.

"I trust he showers you with the kindness he reserves only for you." He coos.

Kyo furrows his brow and crosses his arms.

Tohru smiles. "Kyo is always very kind. He makes sure every day we're together is a happy one. I'm really very lucky!"

Ayame grins. "Ah, so he's competent with you. Good."

Tohru tilts her head. "Huh? Competent?"

Kyo darts his eyes toward the elder man, shoulders hiking. "What d'you mean? Of course I'm --"

"You know. Kyo always knows just what to do to make you--"

Hatori raises his voice. "That's enough. Any more and I'll make you sit out in the car with the child locks on until I'm done."

"Very well." He shrugs. "'Tori wants to save all the scandalous questions for himself. How boring."

"What a menace." The doctor grumbles under his breath.

Ayame cinches Tohru's braid with a ribbon pulled from his sleeve. He shows his handiwork with a flourish. "Voila! You look ravishing, my dear."

He straightens his back and leers across the table. "Kyo, dear boy, I know you find yourself out of your depth seeing as this is your first adult relationship. However, when the woman you love gets her hair done by a professional, it's absolutely necessary that you acknowledge and affirm her with enthusiastic praise right away."

"A professional what? Jackass?" Kyo barks back. "I'll praise Tohru all day long if it'll make 'er happy. I don't need you to tell me that."

His eyes trace her from the crown of her head to the end of her shadow. "She looks beautiful all the time, whether her hair is up or down or if she's smiling or she's --"

Tohru glows. His words raise her head and coax her out of herself. Her fingers unwind and lay across her lap. She blooms before him, before all of them. 

He can hardly breathe, just watching it happen.

"Oh my." Shigure says into his coffee cup. "Would you kids like the room or...?"

Tohru watches him sit, shoulders squared and expression cool, composed. Growing all the time.

"It's a damn compliment. Grow the fuck up." Kyo rolls his eyes.

Ayame rises from the table, seemingly satisfied, and raps Yuki on the shoulder. Yuki reels his gaze up.

"Yuki, I've some choices to finalize for the wedding, and I would love nothing more than to hear your thoughts. Join me, won't you?"

Yuki glances back to Hatori. He nods. "We're done for now."

"Fine, I suppose."

He shrugs and falls in step beside his brother. Ayame loops his arm through his younger brother's and guides him through to Shigure's office. Shigure follows them at a footfall's distance, but not before casting a sly glance at Kyo across the table. He turns to face the room and bows his head as his arms widen across the distance between the den's sliding doors. He pulls them closed.

Kyo wrinkles his brow.

Tohru cranes her neck to watch them go. She moves to push herself from the floor, but Hatori stops her with a wave of his hand.

"I wanted to talk to the both of you alone, if that's alright."

Kyo turns his suspicion on the doctor. He watches as he slips the stethoscope back into his bag, and folds both hands upon the table before him. Steam faintly rises from his coffee cup.

He flits his gaze across the table. Tohru tugs her plait over her shoulder and runs it between her hands. Her knees draw together beneath the hem of her dress. She looks at Hatori. Anxiety hastens her breath.

"It's only a few questions related to your health and wellness. Everything that's said in this space will be kept confidential."

Kyo parts his lips in protest. "But Shigure --"

Hatori nods. "I've spoken with Shigure privately about the importance of discretion and confidentiality, and he agreed to ensure you both have space to talk freely with me. Are you both comfortable with that?"

Kyo looks to Tohru, who nods her consent. He follows suit.

"Good." He alternates between both of them, dark eyes looking beneath his brow. "Moving on. Are the two of you sexually active at present?"

Tohru nods and lets her hair slip from her hand. "Y-yes."

Kyo stares him down. "Yeah."

He nods. "That's with each other, correct?"

They nod their agreement.

"Any other partners? Past or present."

Tohru's face flushes. Her braid flounces as she shakes her head no. 

Kyo wads his fingers into a fist and he shakes his head no as well. "No. What kinda question is that?"

"Standard in determining sexual health. As stated, everything said here will remain confidential." Hatori is cool in his address. "What kind of protection are you using?"

Red blossoms across his nose, though his stare is resolute. "She's on birth control."

"Right." He turns towards Tohru. "And how is that working out for you, Miss Honda? No irregularities, no missed days?"

She smiles, eager to demonstrate her vigilance. "It's great! I make sure to take it with breakfast every morning, so it's always at the same time and I've never even missed a day."

"That's good to hear." Hatori runs a hand through his hair. "We're nearly done, so thank you both for your candor. When was the date of your last period, Miss Honda?"

Tohru's face falls. "Well, I guess that was...huh."

She looks across the table to Kyo. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

He ignores the pull at his stomach and nods. "It was a week or two after my birthday."

Tohru turns her attention back to the doctor. She smiles, though worry pulls at her brow and weighs down her shoulders. "Um, I guess the last week of January. I hadn't realized I was late."

Hatori withdraws a leather bound notebook from his bag and plucks a pen from his coat pocket. He scrawls something across the page and masks his thoughts with an idle hum. He meets their eyes as he raises his head.

"Cycles can alter due to stress, physical activity, illness, medication, and a number of other reasons. With two major life events fast approaching, I wouldn't be surprised if you're experiencing an inordinate amount of stress or anxiety."

She eases her shoulders.

"However," he begins again.

She straightens her back and bites down on the inside of her lip.

"I'll have you take some tests, just to be sure."

Kyo feels the floor give out beneath him. His heart drops into the void. His palms are slick with perspiration, though he feels cold. He lays his arm across the table, palm facing up. He feels her take his hand, and he is grounded once more. 

He turns to see her. She hangs her head, her hair obscuring her eyes. The trembling curve of her lips beckons him to her side. Anxiety weighs him down by the ankles.

He squeezes her hand.

"Is that okay with you?" He gently asks.

Her nod comes slow. Her hand is stiff, fingers icy. She rises to meet Hatori's expectant stare. Her smile remains. Her eyes are wet.

She interlocks her fingers with Kyo's. "Y-yes."

* * *

Her hands are bunched into fists at his back. Her knees press into his sides. A warm halo expands across his chest where she rests her forehead. She sits at the counter's edge, feet propped up on the cabinet doors beneath. Her skirt drapes over the counter's lip and pools into the sink behind her. He stands between her legs and he holds her in his arms.

There, she is still.

He sees himself over her shoulder, reflected in the bathroom mirror. Concern lives in the pinched flesh between his brows. It is the downward pull of his lips and the cool on his skin. A prickling cold creeps over him. He wraps his arms tighter and tugs her in closer, a comfort to himself as much as it is to her. One hand rests at the back of her head. He curls his fingers and brushes his knuckles across her back. He glances down to the pregnancy tests on either side of the sink, then closes his eyes.

"Whatever happens, we'll be okay." He softly says. "We'll be together. We'll be happy."

Her shoulder blades expand as she sucks in a breath. She holds there a moment as she's flooded by the smell of him. She makes herself small in the shelter of his embrace. She shuts her eyes and breathes him in, imagining the two of them anyplace else. She'd have him hold her in the center of the woods, that sacred silence swallowing them up as the wind sweeps through the trees. She'd have him hold her close in a room all their own as snow covers the ground outside. 

In his arms, she's invincible. She's safe from asking eyes and outstretched hands. Here, she can just be her. Just be his. He is her haven.

Hot tears teem at her eyes. She exhales shakily.

She can break here, too.

His kiss is a mantra. He offers them to her, one after another, at the top of her head. Each one is a wish for her peace, her comfort. Her body is his shrine and each kiss a prayer. His breath washes over her as she weeps.

"It's okay." He says.

She smears her forehead across his chest. Tears stream down her cheeks and fall into her lap. "But what if it's positive? What do we do?"

She feels his smile grow at her crown.

"If you wanna have a baby, we will. If you don't, we won't."

"What do you want?"

"I want what you want." He says as if it's simple. As if it's obvious.

She tightens her fists against his back. The fabric gathers in her hands and rides up his back. Her brow knots. His confidence confounds her.

" _Seriously_ , Kyo."

His voice is light and resolute all at once. His smile remains. "Seriously, Tohru."

He draws in a breath and she feels his chest rise. She turns to rest her cheek against him.

"All I care about is a future where I'm by your side. If that's with our baby, I'm happy. If it's just you and I, I'm happy too. Either way, I'll have everything I ever wanted."

She doesn't fight the upward pull of her lips. A weepy kind of laugh bubbles up in her chest. She wipes her tears on the front of his shirt.

"How are you so calm...?" She rasps.

He lays his hand atop her head. "I'm scared too. But talking to you helps."

"Yeah?"

He strokes her hair. "Yeah. And it's not like this is the worst thing that could've happened."

"That's true." She smiles. "I've thought about this kind of thing before."

She feels him laugh. "Yeah? Like how?"

Heat expands across her face. Her gaze is soft as she looks past his shoulder at the far bathroom wall. His towel is there, folded neatly on the rack.

"You know, just thinking about the future. Like us moving away, getting married, having children. Stuff like that."

A thought punches through to the forefront of his mind. He thinks of the box that lays buried beneath his clothes. He thinks of all the times he's held her and laughed with her and kissed her and pleased her and told her he loves her, only steps away from the thing that will make her his forever. It sits in the dark at the bottom of a drawer in his bedroom. It won't be there for very long.

He looks down at his upturned palms. They're shaking.

"Do you ever think about the future?" She asks.

The sound of her voice brings a smile to his lips. He stills the thought of tearing through the drawer and dropping to his knees before her, begging for the opportunity to wipe her tears away and run his fingers through her hair for eternity. He saves it for another day.

He pulls her tight against him and breathes. "All the time. Always with you."

She relaxes, feeling the weight of him upon her. "That makes me feel really happy."

He buries his nose in her hair.

"My mom had me at a really young age," she begins, "A bit younger than we are now. Granted, my dad was much older than her and already had a job that paid well. But they managed."

"Mm."

"Could you be happy with just me? Forever?" She asks. Her fingernails scrape his skin through his clothes as she holds him close.

He nods. He splays his fingers across the back of her head and combs through her hair with his nails. "I can only hope I'm lucky enough to have you all to myself for that long. Why d'you think I'm taking you into the woods three hours away?"

She laughs.

He pulls back just enough to see her.

He studies her face through warm amber eyes. She's sure she looks silly, red in the face with puffy eyes and wet cheeks. It's so hard and so gratifying to be subject to his attention. He sends his love with the entirety of his being. It's the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes. It's his hands on her body, anywhere within reach. He reaches for her in the darkness, a firelight unparalleled.

"I'm sick of sharing you." He says. He cradles her jaw in his hand and strokes her cheek with his thumb.

She releases his shirt and slides her hand down his back. "I only want you."

He lowers his head and his lips meet hers. She's chaste with him, but presses her lips to his over and over again. They part, but she rests her forehead against his. Her breath syncs with his and she can't look away.

"I've decided something."

He looks into her eyes, quiet.

"I want to have your children, whatever happens here. Whether it's today or tomorrow or a year from now or ten years from now, I want that with you. A family."

He grins and his eyes crease at the corners. "Okay. I'm gonna give you that, I promise. Whatever happens."

She pours herself into his kiss, grabbing onto his shoulders from behind and pulling him to her chest. She clamps her eyes shut and whispers against his lips.

"Can you check the tests and tell me what they say?" She asks. "I'm ready."

He nods. He plants his hands on her shoulders and peers past her to inspect the plastic sticks on the counter. He sniffs, and looks back at her. Her sadness is refracted in his eyes.

"Negative." he says.

She smiles and nods. Tears wobble in the basin of her deep brown eyes and threaten to spill over. She lays both hands on his chest. Her chest rises, falls, and rises and rises and rises. She chokes out a sob and collapses in his arms.

He holds her. He fixes his mouth into a frown as a tear races down his cheek and into her hair. 

They mourn and rejoice together. They smile. They cry. She wipes his tears away with her hand. He tells her she's brave as he rests his head on her shoulder. They talk about the future in hopeful, breaking voices, until they're ready to rejoin the world.

A weight is lifted. Two hearts are heavier. A dream all their own is born between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too often, I think, writers lean on suspension of disbelief or fantasy to allow the steamier moments to exist without consequence. In this chapter, I explored a bit of the real-world concerns surrounding sex between two young, loving partners. 
> 
> This is the first real hurt/comfort chapter of the story. It's hard, but I think a vital aspect of Kyo and Tohru's relationship is how safe they feel with one another to share their burdens honestly and draw strength from one another. I hope every one of us is fortunate enough to find the Kyo to their Tohru or the Tohru to their Kyo.
> 
> Some fun facts about this chapter: In the Collector's Edition, Natsuki Takaya mentions that Yuki and Tohru are both year of the dog, while Kyo is year of the boar. That makes him slightly younger than the other two in the main trio, which I think is charming as hell. I went ahead and made him a Capricorn, simply because it's what I think suits him best.
> 
> Also I figured Ayame and Mine would be the first of the cast to get married post-curse. It seemed to me that the curse was the only thing stopping them, really.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed. Let me know what you think with a comment, kudo, or bookmark/subscription. This story is dear to my heart.
> 
> Stay tuned for the next chapter, in which Tohru and Kyo can finally spend a chapter outside of the downstairs bathroom!
> 
> EDIT: I made some art for this chapter and added it in! If you'd like to check out more of my work, check it out on tumblr at thecitybee.tumblr.com.


	6. I Found You

He's sick of sharing her.

That's what he said. He was smiling at her then, but the tone of his voice was heavy and unyielding. His gaze never strayed, not even for a moment. He held her body and her spirit in his hands, leaned in close, and told her he wanted it all to himself. He meant it.

Just thinking about it stokes something deep inside. She curls her toes inside of her shoes and lays a hand over her belly. Butterflies take flight. Little whispers of flapping wings, thinner than paper, ripple through her. They slip through the gaps in her fingers.

She crosses her ankles over one another and shifts in her seat.

She seeks him out mid-lecture. Ms. Shiraki's voice underscores the sounds of pencils scratching paper, the sighing of metal chair legs as students lean forward and back. Someone's shoes squeak against the floor tiles in the hallway.

He's there beside the window, bathed in afternoon's light. His back is flush against his chair, a pencil pinched between his fingers. Focus tugs at his brow as he scours his teacher's words for the important parts. His hand glides down the page.

No one else knows what she knows or sees what she sees when she sees him. Only she's felt his knuckles brush against her bare back as the sun rises behind the blinds in his bedroom. Only she's heard the tenderness in his voice when he thinks they're all alone. Only she has felt his heartbeat stutter under the flat of her hand. Only she has held him as his tears flowed freely. Only she's been blessed by the million declarations of his love.

In little ways and big, he tells her.

He's breathed it in her ear countlessly. He's traced it in her skin. He's kissed it into her lips. He's brushed it in her hair. He's thrust it deep inside of her. He's wept it into her chest. He's served it to her on a plate. He's tucked it in between them under his duvet. He's scrubbed it in with soap and water. He's built a world upon his love and offered it to her again and again with arms outstretched, hands open and turned out to the sun.

A hand claps him on the shoulder from behind. He stops writing. He looks back to one of his schoolmates, who jabs his finger towards her. He holds her gaze with urgency and care. Something soft and something needful glimmer in his eyes. He smiles.

She smiles back.

The boy who sits behind him and another on his side steal his attention as they poke fun. They call him that name he says he hates. They make funny faces and tease him. He bats them away with a curse. Calls them stupid.

She stares after him. Her stomach flutters. Her heart aches. Her smile wilts.

She's sick of sharing him, too.

* * *

The bell chimes and students file out into the hallway. The trees in the courtyard are earthbound clouds of white and pink as the cherry blossoms bud on their branches. It's still too cold for them to open up and shed their petals, but it's a welcome change from the bareness of winter.

Tohru waits for him outside the door. Her hands are folded neatly in front of her, and she rocks on her heels. Through the throng of students, she thinks she can make out a head of fair hair. She narrows her eyes.

Blond locks streak through the crowd, bouncing with every step. A lanky young man leaps out and throws his arms around her, smushing his cheek against hers.

"I found you!" He cries.

"Momiji!" She laughs and steadies herself. "You didn't have to come all the way up to the third years' floor. I would've met up with you outside."

"No way. I can't make the princess walk around looking for me. Especially not today." He reaches into his backpack and presents a stuffed animal to her on the beds of both hands. "Happy White Day!"

A white rabbit. Its artificial fur has a sheen to it that beckons her. She takes it in her hands and seals her lips taut. Her voice quivers. She bows her head. 

"Th-this is too much."

He sounds dismayed. "Aw, you don't like it?"

She snaps her head up, eyes welling with tears. "No, I  _ love _ it."

He tilts his head with a smile. He motions to respond, but his nerves spike. A hand grabs him by the shoulder.

"You're not supposed to make a girl cry on White Day." Kyo chides.

He stands tall with his book bag slung over his shoulder. His hand covers Momiji's shoulder. He's already clawed his way through the buttons of his school uniform, the long-sleeved overshirt draping over him, teasing the tee shirt beneath.

Momiji peers up at him with a sideways stare. "You're not supposed to make a girl wait all alone in the hallway for you, either."

He takes Tohru's hand between his and bellows. "Your boyfriend's so mean and nasty, Tohru! Go to dinner with me instead."

Tohru shakes her head frantically, brows knit. "N-no! He's thoughtful and generous and patient and kind! I'm happy to wait for him, really!"

Kyo steps in at her side and slips his arm around her. His fingers ease into place on her shoulder. She feels his body beside her. He carries warmth with him wherever he goes. She leans into him like a moth to a lantern.

He speaks. "Quit talkin' shit already, Momiji. It's annoying."

He glances down the bridge of his nose. His eyes soften when he sees her. He gives her shoulder a squeeze and nods toward her gift.

"The rabbit's cute, though."

Her face burns. She tugs her hand from Momiji's grasp and curls her fingers into the lapel of Kyo's school uniform. He's warm there, too.

"I know it's cute. I got it because it has brown eyes like Tohru." Momiji pouts. "But really. Kisa, Hiro, and I wanted to treat you to dinner for White Day."

She tightens her grip on Kyo's shirt. "Huh? Th-that's so kind of you."

He beams. "Yep! It was mostly mine and Kisa's idea. Yuki said he'd come too, after he's finished with student council stuff."

She plants her feet firmly on the ground. "I'd love to go. But only if Kyo comes too."

Kyo lulls his head back and ushers the lot of them down the emptying hall. "I'm comin' whether I'm invited or not."

Momiji interlocks his fingers behind his back and falls into step at Tohru's side. "Boo, Kyo. Leave some time with Tohru for the rest of us."

He shakes his head. When she peeks up at him, she sees the upward pull of his lips. 

"Nope. Should'a enjoyed it while you had it."

He rubs circles into her shoulder with his thumb and holds her close at his side. He sends his love with a glimpse in her direction. A candid smile.

She wraps her arm around his waist and rests her head against him. Their footsteps fall silently, though his heart plays a low percussion in her ear. They descend the stairs together.

* * *

It's like being underwater. Everything is weightless and slow. Sound moves garbled and thick past his ears. He's only vaguely aware of silverware scraping on dishes and the back and forth of young voices in conversation.

Momiji prattles on. He talks with his hands. He forgets his food, he's so busy.

Hiro sits across the table, nestled in the booth like a boy king. He gives a hard look to the speaker. There's judgment in the slanted frown he wears as he eats.

Kisa sits tucked in close beside him. Meek. Her big caramel colored eyes are a mirror to whomever holds her attention. Right now, it's Tohru. The look in her eyes speaks of love and respect. There's a sadness there too.

It won't be long until she leaves her. Until she follows a man off into the countryside and her existence fades to phone calls.

He isn't sorry.

His hand rests on Tohru's beneath the table. Her fingers fit so easily between his own. To reach out and feel just a fraction of her in his hand is a gift. He curls his knuckles until his fingertips kiss the inside of her palm. 

She brushes her thumb across his forefinger and pulls his hand into her lap. She never breaks her stream of thought, her cadence never falters. She's peacefully at play with her peers and with him.

Her touch conjures heat on his skin, sets his nerves aglow. She draws him up from the depths of the sea to break through the surface. She, with her life giving grin, is the sunrise over the crests of waves. He takes a breath and lingers there in the present, if only to feel her warmth a little longer.

"Oh, there's Yuki." She says, her attention pulled by the chime of the bell by the restaurant's front door. "And Machi too!"

Tohru and Momiji's hands buoy through the air until Yuki and his girlfriend come to join them at the table. Momiji whispers something to the waiter and two chairs are dragged to the edge of the table. They sit. They say their hellos.

"Happy White Day, Miss Honda. Kisa." Yuki nods politely. "I hope you don't mind, Miss Honda, but my gift for you is better suited for when you move, so I'll give it to you then."

She shakes her head. "Please don't feel pressured to get me anything. Just you being here is enough."

"Unfortunately we can only stick around for a little while. Machi and I have plans of our own tonight."

Machi sinks into her chair and averts her eyes.

Yuki rests his elbow on the table and props his head in his hand. "Though I'm sure you and Kyo have plans too, right? Surely he can't be so stupid as to plan absolutely nothing for his first White Day with his girlfriend."

"I have plans. We're only here 'cause Momiji and the kids wanted to take 'er out after school." Kyo bristles. "And stop talkin' like I'm not here."

Yuki swivels his attention. "Oh, so you  _ are _ here. I saw you sulking over there and assumed you were somebody's child throwing a fit."

"You're a prick."

Machi's eyes volley to either of the men at her sides. Her expression is unreadable to most everyone at the table. Yuki recognizes it as something close to amusement. He wrinkles his nose.

"We're all here to show our love and appreciation for Miss Honda, idiot, so do your best to be decent to the rest of us so she has a good time." The smile on his face betrays the bite to his words. "You have all the time in the world with her after the school year's through, so you can keep it together for one dinner. Right?"

Kyo snarls but straightens his back against his chair. "I'm  _ bein' _ decent. How would you know, anyway? You just got here."

"Th-thank you, but we really are all having a good time." Tohru says, holding her palm out in surrender.

She lowers her voice to a whisper and leans in to Kyo. She pecks his neck below his ear and gives his hand a squeeze. "Just a little while longer, then we can go home."

He looks away, but savors the feel of her lips on his skin. "It's alright. We'll stay however long you want."

He feels her smile into his neck. "Well, now I know the house will be empty tonight, so…"

He drags a hand across his face to soothe the burn of his cheeks. She pulls away. He nods stiffly, still not looking quite at her. He holds her thigh with the hand in her lap.

Yuki plucks a cloth napkin from the table and spreads it over his lap. Conversation picks up once more around the table. Laughs are shared. They raise a glass to Tohru, to Kisa, to Machi. 

Things still move too slow for him. Talk idles on and on. The starched collar of his uniform scratches his neck.

But he looks at her and she's happy.

So he tries to enjoy it.

* * *

The lock clicks out of place and the door cracks open. A breeze spills in with them. He kicks a package over the threshold with his foot and jams the door closed behind her. They lose their shoes at the entry. Their school bags tangle together and topple in a heap on the floor. Her little white rabbit pokes out from her bookbag and cools on the floor tiles.

She leads him upstairs by the hand.

The hallway is drenched in the blue-black of night, lit only by the square of moonlight that pours in from the window and stretches across the floor. The air inside is cool. The floorboards chill the soles of their feet as they dismount the steps and walk a lopsided line towards her door. 

She turns to him with the door at her back. She runs her fingers from the hem of his shirt to its lapels, kneading the fabric with her thumbs.

He lets her hands guide him. He rests a hand against the door behind her and slides the other across her hip. His fingers slip beneath her blazer and the thin button down beneath it. Her skin is warm to the touch. Soft. He ghosts his thumb across her stomach as he caresses her waist beneath her clothes. He tilts his head down and lingers there, the bridge of his nose close enough to feel the heat from her cheek.

Pale moonlight illuminates one side of her face. Her voice sweetens the air between them.

"Come inside?"

He nudges her with the tip of his nose."I'll do anything you want."

The doorknob chills her palm as she takes hold of it. His hand fills the space between her jaw and her neck. Her hair bunches at his fingertips. 

His kiss is a lit match. He guides and ignites her. His touch sparks a hundred little fires on her skin. He shields her from the cold. He shares his warmth. She spreads her fingers beneath his overshirt and feels the heat that stirs there.

The door opens at her back. She steps backwards past the threshold and into the unlit expanse of her bedroom. He advances. He shoves roughly behind him and the door slams shut after them.

He pops open the buttons on her blazer and yanks it down her arms. He punches each button out of place with his thumb and her blouse flutters down her leg and onto the floor. She feels his fingers at the nape of her neck, buried in her hair. He pushes his open palm up her stomach and squeezes her through her bra.

She roves her hands over his arms and his shirt falls to the floor. She hooks her fingers beneath the hem of his undershirt and pulls it till he's free. His touch comes hungry, comes constant. She takes his belt buckle in her hand and fumbles with it until it loosens. The brass square bats against her wrist as she unfastens his pants and wrests them past his hips.

He steps forward. She can feel her bed behind her knees. He presses his thigh between her legs and guides her toward the mattress. She collapses back onto it, smoothing her fingers down the ridges of his muscles and resting below his navel.

His hands melt down her sides. He digs his fingers under the fabric of her skirt and tugs it off. He reaches behind her back, one hand at her head and the other between her shoulder blades. He looks down at her with eyes enraptured. The clasp of her bra releases. She shrugs off the straps. He drags it from her chest and drops it at the edge of the bed.

She pitches forward and sinks her teeth into his neck. A sigh ekes out, smothered by closed lips. He leans into her. The bed creaks. His length brushes tantalizingly against her inner thigh. She works her hand in the arc between his body and hers and takes hold. Her grip is tight, her stroke slow and deliberate.

He forces air between clenched teeth.

Warmth washes over her as he runs his hands across her through her underwear. He flickers two fingers against her clit through the lace. She scrapes her bottom lip with her teeth. She bends for him as he peels her underwear down her legs. She moves to take off her socks. They pinch her skin just below her knees.

He jams his thumb against her. She stills with a whimper. He smears the thick of it across her and shivers as her toes curl at the back of his thighs. 

Her mouth falls open. She breathes, disjointed and heavy.

"No." He whispers, "Keep those on."

She melts on his fingers as he prods between her legs.

Their gaze goes unbroken as he sinks his fingers in. Tendons strain against her skin as she pulls him with her hand. Sweat gathers at his brow and slakes down the side of his face. His arm is rigid as she bounces on the end of his hand. Her knees spread open at the edge of the bed. She positions him, a pearl of moisture wobbling at the head, toward her center.

This man who stands over her with the moon in his eyes is hers and hers alone. From the fingers that stoke her from inside to the lips that pray her name, he belongs to her. He bears the mark of her teeth on his neck. He lays himself bare in the palm of her hand, throbbing just for her.

Greed builds in the well of her stomach and still she wants more.

He presses down with his thumb and curls his fingers. He holds her at the back of her neck. He fights to hold his eyes open, to watch her squirm.

Her lip scrapes out from under her teeth and she yelps into the dark. She pistons her hand up and down the length of him, to expel some of the energy that whirs between them. She watches as he lowers his forehead to her chest. Her heart leaps to meet him. 

He rests there, his hair moon-dappled and his breath spilling out over her ribs. He presses a kiss at the crest of her belly, then seals her nipple between his lips. His fingers come away wet. He takes her leg in the crook of his hand. Goosebumps form as the air cools the mess he smears across her skin.

One thigh meets her chest. He pins her there with his hand. Their bodies connect with every inhale. She stays her hand and shuts her eyes.

He rolls his hips. She swallows him up to the hilt.

He wears her legs around his neck like prayer beads. He drinks up the sound of her voice as he sucks at her breast. His brows knit. He takes her in his arms. The bed slams against the wall with every push of his hips. He takes her.

Only in the most audacious of dreams did he ever imagine he'd have her this way. Her nails rake raw trails across his shoulders. Her heels press in at his back and squeeze as he delves into her. The music of her voice and her heartbeat blend together, his own voice muted by her breast. 

He strokes her bottom lip with his thumb and she takes it in her mouth. He shudders as her tongue swirls around it. She releases him with a moan, and he circles her clit with intention.

He frees her from his mouth with a flick of his tongue. He looks down at her, lost to a bliss only he can give. He swells. He pushes in deep. Anything at all to hear her say --

"I'm yours!"

She's said these words before. Her voice kissed him so sweetly, and promised everything he'd ever dared to wish for. The words fell from her lips so easily and danced across his pillow and pricked at his heart. He wanted to believe her more than anything.

Somehow, it feels different this time. Her back lifts off the mattress. Their chests collide and slide as he rocks against her. She trembles from her core. Her body quakes. She grasps at the back of his head and his shoulder for any part of him to hold onto. Her mouth parts over sounds she can't suppress. She cums.

He drives into her.

"Oh,  _ fuck _ ." 

The words burst from the depths of his chest.

She is spun silk. She is the molten core of the world at the bottom of the sea. She is the thunderstorm and the sun that burns behind it. All that is good and decent lives in her. Her, with her voice like honey and eyes like maple syrup. When he sees and hears her, he is stuck. 

He cannot, does not, pull away.

Her cries fill the space between them. 

The streaks she's left on his back sting. The side of his neck aches and his muscles ache too. His knuckles are stiff where his fingers dig into her skin. The light of the moon glints off his shoulder, his forearm, the ridges of muscle at his back. 

His sweat-slicked skin glows in the night where only she can see. He molds his hand to the curve of her cheek. He holds her gaze as he comes undone.

"Say it again." He closes his lip between his teeth.

He rises to his toes and stuffs himself inside as far as he can go. She feels him stir at the back of her. His muscles stiffen and his breath comes in short gasps.

"I'm yours," she pants. "Ah, I'm yours."

Their lips collide. He has her full. He has her breathless. He has her.

* * *

His heart's steady drumbeat nearly lulls her to sleep. Her cheek is at his chest. She tangles in him like a climbing rose, her vines curled at his stomach, his chest, his legs, his arms. He weaves his fingers through her hair. The strands rain down on her side like flower petals.

He's propped up by her pillows. He perches at the crown of her head, her body secured in his embrace. A breeze slips in through the window, cracked open.

"Did you have fun today?" He asks into the dark.

He feels her nod against him.

"Mmhm. It was fun going out to eat with everyone, but I wish we could have gone on a date instead. ...Is that bad?"

He shakes his head with a smile. "No, it's not bad."

There's a pause. He holds his breath for a beat, pensive.

"I could still give you your presents, if you want."

She tilts her head up to see him. His fingers flick her hair loose and it falls down around her.

"Presents? But --"

He shrugs. "If you don't want 'em, that's fine."

"I do want them!" She protests. "I really, really want them!"

He smirks with a quirk of his brow. "So greedy."

He watches her face contort in frustration and laughs. He pats her head and yanks the blanket at his side. Her fingers drag across his skin as he pulls away. 

She watches his silhouette disappear into the hallway. Seconds spill away before he returns. Moonlight caresses the contours of his muscles. He pads across the floor, back to her, with a gift bag in his hands. He offers it to her. He bites the inside of his lip.

"Happy White Day." He quietly says.

She grazes something cool inside the bag. She pinches it between her fingers and pulls out a photo frame. A slice of moonlight cuts across the glass, but she recognizes her mother instantly. She turns to him.

"You framed this?"

He slips his arm around her, takes her shoulder in his hand. He points. "Yeah. It's one of the ones you showed me before, when we talked about your dad. This one looks nice and it's got all three of you, so I thought you might wanna put it up in our place once we move."

She expels a shaky breath and wraps her arms around his sides. The picture rests in his lap as she buries her nose in his chest.

"We can pick a different one if you want. It's not--"

She shakes her head vehemently. "Please don't. I love it."

He rests his chin atop her head. His hands glide up and down her sides. He shrouds her with the heavy blanket and holds her, curled up against him.

"There's one other thing." He swallows. He steadies his hand as it disappears into the bag. Tissue paper crinkles at his touch. 

She sniffs, but lifts her head to see.

He holds a white envelope between his fingers. There's a little hand drawn heart on its front, and it's not been sealed. He passes it from his hand into hers, and watches her pull free two matching tickets. 

She wrinkles her brow and looks to him for an answer.

He presses a kiss into her temple. "Since we gotta go to the wedding, there isn't much time for me to celebrate you the way I want."

He clears his throat. "So I figured we could, uh, take a trip to our new town. Just us."

There's a quiet moment where she stares down at the paper tickets in her hands and the framed photo they eclipse. Her expression is unreadable behind a curtain of long brown hair. His fingers coast the length of her back.

She throws her arms around him and buries her face in his neck. Her tears streak across his skin. A drop gathers in the hollow of his collarbone.

"Just us." She says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy one month anniversary to Everspring! This is probably the most prolific I've ever been in my life, so thank you for joining and rejoining me with every update.
> 
> This chapter, I wanted to explore the fact that both Tohru and Kyo express feelings of greed, selfishness, and desire when talking and thinking about one another. As early as the beach arc in the manga, Kyo describes fantasies of "making her [his]". Tohru, not long after, struggles with wanting Kyo to be free so he can be with her. She describes the feeling as "greedy and selfish", and I thought that was worth exploring both psychologically, emotionally, and sexually.
> 
> Please feel free to share your thoughts with a comment! I so appreciate your reading. Until next time.


	7. To the Happy Couple

The wedding of Ayame Sohma and Mine Kuramae is a day long affair. The festivities begin early on Saturday morning with a traditional ceremony at the Sohma family temple. They stand before a priest, both dressed in long robes of black and white, as a blend of former zodiac members, Sohmas from the inner and outer households, and members of her family look on in relative silence.

There are more flowers than people. Bundles of baby’s breath line the path to the altar. White rose petals litter the floor like fresh fallen snow. Bouquets billow out wider than two arms could hold. White roses stretch their petals in the light of a new day. Amongst them, purple irises. They draw the eye and show their curly silhouettes. They catch the light like dewey gems.

Each of the zodiac wears robes handmade by the bride and groom. 

Shigure sits at the front, near the altar, dark green silk rippling down his back. Hatori sits parallel to him across the aisle, clad in purple.

Akito tries to make herself small at Shigure's flank. The blooming light of sunrise spills in through the exit at her side, illuminating her black kimono. She fidgets.

Yuki sits behind Hatori. His silver garment stands out amongst the crowd with its embroidered hemlines and layered fabrics that glitter like fish scales. Though he sits still, he shines like the moon on a starless night. 

Ayame casts him a look from the altar, but says nothing. Happy.

The zodiac observe the festivities like anybody else, easily identifiable by the color and sheen of their clothes.

There's a weight to the air that hasn't been felt for some time. This gathering may be among the last for the lot of them. Even it is incomplete. Kureno's absence is palpable. Knowing eyes scan the room. It sullies the air like the smell of burnt meat.

Nobody speaks of it.

They sit together toward the middle of the chamber, a head of brown hair pinned back with two mops of orange on either side.

One hand lays twined with his in his lap. The other rests in Kisa’s. She watches the birth of a marriage through teary eyes, her chest hiking as she stifles her sobs. Kyo's hand squeezes hers, though he keeps his eyes forward.

Ayame and Mine turn and take three sips each of the array of ritual sake before them. They turn again to each other, fingers interlaced, and then to the crowd of cherished witnesses beyond. He takes her face in his hands, brushes his thumbs over the crests of her cheeks. Her hair curls across the white of his gloves. He shakes his head and narrows his eyes. He says something for her and her alone, and kisses her.

Married evermore.

The crowd erupts. A cacophony echoes throughout the temple as witnesses add their voices and beating hands. Tohru slips her hand from Kyo's to share in the celebration. 

He watches tears race down her cheek.

* * *

The evening's celebration unfurls in the gardens adorning the banquet hall in the inner estate. The sun peeks out from pillowy white clouds as it sinks below the horizon, obscured by the slopes of mountains in the distance. The gardens are bathed in orange light. The breeze is crisp and intermittent.

Ayame stands at the deck overlooking the greenery with Mine at his side. She wears an opulent Western-style wedding gown, her lace train spilling out on the floor at her feet. Ayame wears a red silk coat that, too, fans out around him. A braided crown is woven into his hair.

Shigure raises a glass into the air, face already red from drink. "To the happy couple!"

Everyone raises their glasses and their voices to share in the sentiment.

"If there were any among us ready for the trials and triumphs of marriage, it was you, Aaya. To be honest, I'm only surprised it didn't happen sooner." He tapers his thumb and forefinger down his chin. "But I digress. May your love carry you through this life and the next. Kampai!"

They echo him.

He presses his lips to the glass. The golden liquid disappears, and he bows his head.

“Thank you, ‘Gure, for your moving tribute. You are the finest storyspinner I know, and I trust only you to give voice to our ineffable romance.” Ayame proclaims with a swish of the glass in his hand. He raises Mine’s hand to his lips. “And thank you all for joining us today. We’ll be blissfully getting drunker by the minute, so do check in with my bride and I to receive unparalleled wisdom and good fortune in all your romantic endeavors.”

Yuki narrows his eyes down on the garden floor. 

“Oh good. I can see marriage has humbled him a lot already.” He mutters flatly.

Kyo stifles a laugh and shakes his head.

The doors to the banquet hall are left open as the cool air of the evening sets in. Inside, a feast is arranged carefully on long tables. Champagne bottles pop one after another and the stringent scent of alcohol bites through the smell of hot food.

Music pours out from the hall and into the gardens. Bare feet beat against the floorboards. Hands hike up fabric at the knees as the young race outside. The grassy space at the garden's center comes alive as they dismount the deck and start to dance.

Kyo slinks around the corner and perches in the shadow of celebration. He sits upon the deck and picks at his kimono. He glances down the walkway, surprised to find Shigure slurping at his drink beside him.

He raises an eyebrow. “I’m surprised you’re stickin’ around.”

“Is that so surprising? It’s my best friend’s wedding.”

“Yeah. But Akito took off.”

“That she did.” He takes a drink. “She thought it best to make herself scarce since we were all getting together.”

“So you’ll be headin’ out soon.”

“That may be.” He tilts his head. “Why’re you hanging around back here anyway? Your days as a wallflower have come to an end. Go and dance with Tohru. I’m sure she’d love that.”

Kyo rubs the back of his neck with his hand. “I’m waitin' in line.”

He blinks up at the gathering at the garden’s center.

That’s where the party is. Momiji tows Hiro along by the arm as he bounds from one part of the grounds to the other. Kagura, Yuki, and Ritsu dance together with wrinkled noses and smiles that threaten to pour over from laughter. Ayame holds Mine’s hand above her head and spins her, her skirts dancing in the air as she does. Haru stands where the grass meets the pebble-strewn path, a hand upturned and extended to Rin, who glowers with her arms crossed. Tohru and Kisa twist and twirl around each other in the center of it all. Their laughter sweetens the air under the pulse of the music.

“Still,” Shigure says, “It looks like fun. You should go.”

He shakes his head. “In a minute. She’s enjoying herself, and I don’t wanna take away from her time with everyone. Not tonight, anyway.”

His face is angled towards the ground. He looks up at him from under tilted brows. A smirk pulls at his lips, but its meaning is lost on Kyo.

"Has it occurred to you yet?" His breath fogs the champagne flute in his hand.

Kyo quirks a brow.

"These are among your last days as a bachelor, you know." His expression falls away to something nonchalant and easy, but his eyes are intensely focused. "It's a matter of time before we're all making the trip right back here for you and Tohru. Everyone knows, we’re all just waiting to hear it from you. How  _ did _ the proposal go, by the way?"

"You're easier to read than you think." Kyo quells a laugh down to a smile. "I haven't asked 'er yet."

"Damn."

Kyo supports himself on the palms of his hands. He reels his gaze up toward the sky. "What? Lose a bet?"

"I had a couple thousand yen on it, yes. Not that it matters."

Kyo shakes his head, bemused.

"D'you remember what you told me?" He asks, looking heavenward.

"I've told you lots of things."

He presses through his fingertips into the floorboards. "It was only a little after I showed up that first time. She was already living with you by then."

Shigure hums into his drink.

"You said someday there'd be a girl who says she loves me. And that I needed to learn to be a part 'a the world so I'd know how to take care of 'er."

The words come quiet. His stomach hollows and the world feels small around him. He sucks in a breath. He pinches his shoulders and rises to look at the man.

"Why'd you say that?" He asks.

"Well, it's true, isn't it?"

"Nevermind if it's true. Why'd you say it?"

His slack shoulders shudder as he laughs. "Always so serious, Kyo. Doesn't it get tiring?"

Kyo leans forward with his hands spread atop his knees. "No, really. Were you tryin' to manipulate me? Was it like a cruel joke? I'm not mad if it was. I just wanna know."

Shigure props his elbow against the porch. His fingers curl around the base of the glass balanced in his palms. Moisture gathers at the surface and bleeds onto his skin. He smiles and watches the dance unfold at a distance.

"I said what I said. It was maybe a little hope, guidance, and defiance dispensed at a time and place where I thought you might benefit from hearing it. And you did, ultimately."

"And you got somethin' out of it too, right? In the end."

He takes a drink. "I'm not really the altruistic type."

Kyo scoffs. "That's not much of an answer."

Shigure's cheeks flush. A grin grows across his lips. "It wasn't much of a question."

He sees a light die from behind a paper door in one of the buildings to his side.

He stretches. Yawns. Offers Kyo his drink. “Well, it’s about time I turn in for the night. You know where your rooms are, right?”

He’s hesitant to take it. “It’s barely 8:30.”

“So it is.” Shigure presses the glass into his hand with a smirk. “Do try to keep it down tonight, hm? You’ve got the maids’ quarters across the courtyard from you and I think we’d both like to spare Tohru the trouble. You know. People hear things, people talk.”

Kyo furrows his brow. He feels the heat expand across his face as he takes the champagne flute between his fingers. His shoulders hike.

“What're you--?!”

Shigure gives him a slight wave as he slips into the shadows cast by the darkened building. “Nighty night, Kyo! Be good!”

Kyo pushes the glass onto the deck. Champagne sloshes against the sides and stains his sleeve.

“Bastard.” He mutters.

* * *

"Time to go." Haru says as he smooths his hand across Hiro's shoulder.

He tugs away with a frown. "I have ears, idiot. Don't touch people for no reason."

Rin stares down her nose at the boy. "Stop spewing insults and you'll be able to hear him better."

He shrinks and averts his eyes.

Hatsuharu waves his phone with one hand. "Your mom texted. Says it's time to come home. She says Kisa's got permission to spend the night, so we're gonna take you both back now."

Kisa's hands linger in Tohru's and a smile blossoms across her face. Her hair whips as she turns to look at Tohru. "I had a lot of fun, Big Sister."

Tohru nods. "Me too. You were an excellent dance partner."

She gathers the girl in her arms and gives a big squeeze. She can feel small fingers at her back, and then nothing. Kisa steps across the grass towards the group. She offers a wave across the distance.

Tohru waves back. "Have a good night, everyone!"

A smattering of goodbyes ring out. Kisa's hand sails through the air and she spares her a look over her shoulder as they walk away.

Tohru curls her hand at her chest. The smile she wears is a contented one. She glances around the courtyard.

The music softens as the day fades to black. Only a small sliver of sunset sits on the horizon. Stars gild the night as it encroaches on the sky. Lights glow warm against the paper walls of the estate's many houses. Her shadow stretches on into everything.

Ritsu and Kagura sway softly together, their zōri crunching in the grass. They giggle about something nameless. There's a comfort between them that makes Tohru miss home.

She turns. Ayame and Mine hold each other close as the curtain of the sky closes all around them. His hands are at her back, her face nestled in the crook of his neck. His eyes are closed. Lantern light glints off his wedding band as they turn and turn together.

She feels a gentle touch at her back. She turns toward it.

"Y-yes?" She asks, a little flustered.

Yuki tilts his head. A weak smile pulls at his lips. "Are you enjoying yourself, Miss Honda? Can I get you anything?"

She fans her hands before her and shakes her head. "I'm having a great time! I've never been to a wedding before, but this was just so moving and lovely and -- and please don't put yourself to any trouble, Yuki, I'm fine."

His face falls and he scans the courtyard. "Where's--?"

"Kyo hung back a little earlier when the dancing started."

His brow tenses. "You mean he didn't dance with you?"

She waves her hands before him. "It's not like that. He wanted to give Kisa and I some space. She hasn't said anything, but I think she's really sad about the move."

He nods. "I'm glad you were able to get that time together tonight, then."

He offers her his hand, open towards the sky. When she looks up at him, he grins. "May I have this dance?"

She returns his smile and places her hand in his. One of his hands comes to rest at her waist, and he steps softly through the grass, guiding her. She rests her palm on his shoulder and chuckles.

"You must be exhausted."

He raises his brows. "What? Do I look tired?

She purses her lips and gives a nod. "Sorry!" 

He rolls his eyes with a humored smirk.

"Well, it's definitely been a busy day. I didn't know  _ I'd _ have as many outfit changes as the bride and groom."

She laughs. "You were a pretty good sport about it."

"It must've only looked that way. I was really irritated, actually."

Both of them glance toward Ayame and Mine over Yuki's shoulder.

He sighs. "But it was worth it, I suppose. They did get married after all. That's a huge achievement, especially for one of us."

Worry creases her brow. It swims in her eyes. She frowns. "Wait. The others can get married too, can't they? Th-there aren't any rules against it?"

He turns his attention back to her. He's puzzled for a moment, and reassuring the next. "Those kinds of restrictions died along with the curse. For all of us."

She's unconvinced.

"But what about--?"

He smiles. "For the cat, too. Don't worry."

They slowly turn together on the lawn. His focus falls to something in the distance behind her. The sincerity of his smile melts away to something sharp, almost mocking. He tilts his head toward her and raises his eyebrows. Before she can look, he nears her cheek. His voice is low.

"Speaking of," he says, "It looks like your last dance of the evening just arrived."

He takes a step back and raises his hand, her fingers slipping from it, to create an arc between them.

She turns to look over her shoulder.

And there he is.

Even in the dark of a newborn night, he stands vibrant with his autumn colored hair and golden robes. Lamplight dusts his shoulder. It illuminates his face in fractals, the trellis shaped shadows of paper walls and doors stretched across him. There's a shy kind of smile on his face, and a soft look in his eyes that comes alive just for her.

He reaches out to her. Light gathers in the bed of his hand.

She closes the distance. She throws her arms around him, buries her fingers in his hair. His hands come around behind her, molding to her shape. He bows his head. He presses a kiss into her temple.

"You're back." She says into his neck.

She cradles the back of his head and holds him against her.

The sound of his laugh rumbles from his chest to hers. "Was I gone long?"

She shakes her head. "Not really. But I missed you."

His hands skate her frame and come to rest at her hips. He looks at Yuki, and she pulls back just enough to do the same.

"You takin' off?"

Yuki cocks his head and the pale light of the moon washes over him. "I'm going to walk Kagura and Ritsu home, then catch a ride back to the house with Hatori."

"Why's Hatori goin' back that way?"

Yuki shrugs."He's driving Ayame and Mine back to their place. My brother won't let anyone else take him home."

"You mean you're not going back to the guest house with us?" Tohru adds.

He shakes his head. "It's nothing to do with you, Miss Honda. I just don't want to spend a night inside the compound if I don't have to."

She nods, biting the inside of her cheek. "I understand. Have a good night, Yuki."

"I will. And thank you for the dance."

He gives a slight wave and makes his way across the courtyard. The words exchanged between he, Kagura, and Ritsu are too soft to hear over the music. Momiji springs up from the deck of the banquet hall, and loops his arms through Kagura's and Ritsu's. Conversation's cadence stems from the group and softens and softens as they walk away.

She turns her attention back to Kyo to find him gazing back at her. His eyes are half-hooded, his lips pulled into a smile he can't help but show. Warmth from his hands radiates at her hips.

The music comes faint from the open door of the banquet hall. The seclusion of the garden makes it feel full as the strum of guitar strings carries across the leaves, the flower petals, the breeze. The bass follows. Then the harmony of fingers, feather light, across the strings.

She realizes they're already dancing. He cranes his neck, her hands clasped behind it, to brush his lips just below her jaw. She feels him take in the scent of her hair. She closes her eyes.

One hand unfurls across her back. He holds her in a gentle embrace. They rock together. He carries the rhythm along with her, as easy as breathing.

She rests in the space between the lapels of his kimono, her nose pressed to his skin. He's always so warm.

His heart swells. He drinks her in. The smell of rosewater and irises is woven in her hair. Her skin, cool and smooth at his lips. Her body feels delicate in the palms of his hands. The warmth built between them feels like coming home. He drinks it all until he's inebriated, but never sated. 

He could always, always have more.

"Y'know," His lips move against her neck. He feels her suck in a breath. "I've never danced with anyone before."

She tucks into the heavenly space where his neck meets his collar bone. "I don't believe you."

He chuckles. "For real."

"You're doing great."

"Yeah?"

She nods against him. "The best part of my night, by far."

"Yeah. Mine too." He grins.

He holds her close. The courtyard, the estate, the vague impression of a bride and groom across the lawn all fall away as he closes his eyes. There is only the hum of a cello, a saxophone's croon, and the way she feels in his arms.

The moment lasts as long as they let it.

* * *

Their zōri sit beside each other on the porch. A square of lamplight lays in the grass beneath the bedroom window. The guest house sits quietly in the night. 

His duffel bag lays at the foot of the futon, his and her clothes stacked one on top of the other. It smells a little like her. A little like him, too.

It's nudged aside as she steps towards the futon.

She stands with her hands in her hair, plucking out bobby pins and combing through braids. Her back is to him. Light spills around her, darkening her silhouette against the cream color walls.

His hands come around her. They rest folded across her stomach.

"Anything I can do?" He mumbles as he brushes his lips against the nape of her neck.

"Thank you." She smiles. "Can you help me with the obi, actually?"

She watches his hands streak across the fabric of her kimono and disappear from her line of sight. She feels him fiddle with the knot at her back. The pink cord of her obijime tangles free. Her obi falls to the floor soon after, followed by the bustle. The kimono parts at the front, slung from her shoulders without support. She tiptoes out of the pool of pink and white fabrics and presses her back into him.

He presses back.

The last of her hair slips free. It falls in loose waves past her shoulders. She nibbles at the inside of her lip as she pinches the lapels of her robe between her fingers. She turns to face him.

He stands before her, his kimono loose and casual, tethered by the obi at his waist. His bare chest peeks out between the y-shaped folds. He looks at her a little expectantly, brows raised, lips pressed into an affable line. He holds some strands of her hair between two fingers and strokes idly at it with his thumb.

"Need somethin' else?" He asks.

She shakes her head. Her teeth close over her lower lip.

Both her hands perch at the fold of her robe. His eyes follow. She gathers the kimono and the nagajuban in her fingers and pull them down her shoulders. They draw across her skin, baring herself to him by inches. The garment bunches at her elbows and drapes loosely at her back. Powder pink fabric ripples across the floor.

She stands before him, a pale silhouette framed by the veil of her robes.

His pupils grow. His mouth is dry. Words rise in his chest just to die in his throat. His fingers tighten against her hair. He meets her eyes and steps forward, blind to everything but her. 

"Tohru..." He tenderly says. 

He raises an open hand to her chest. A wordless question swims in the black of his pupils. He tilts his head.

She smooths her fingers over his knuckles and pulls his hand to her breast. The roughness of his palm glides over her. She sighs. His touch summons sparks up and down her spine.

Her hair slips from his fingers. He tugs off his obi and his kimono falls open around him. He lowers his head to her chest, plants kisses across her collar bone. He traces intricate shapes on her skin with the tip of his tongue. His hand eases across her hip and grabs her firmly from behind. He parts his lips over her nipple and grazes it with his teeth. His mouth is hot. His voice carries from his lips and travels through her.

She scrapes her nails through his hair and pulls him to her chest. Her hair shrouds him as she lowers her head. Allspice and the sour scent of champagne dances from him to her. She runs her hands over his shoulders, tensed, and down his back.

"Harder."

His brow pinches at the sound. He's only half-certain he's heard it. He glances up at her, still sucking at her breast. He hums against her.

Her breath comes cool and sharp between her teeth. "H-harder, please."

He does as he's told.

She throws her head back. Her foot drags across the futon. She pulls herself free of his lips and kneels before him, her kimono falling around her like a tidepool on their bed. She looks up at him. Her chest catches the the lamplight, red and wet from him, alone.

She brushes away the fold of his robe. The cloth moves over him, and he digs his toes into the floor. His cock stands before her, eyes curious and unrelenting and upturned towards him. Her hands are open beside it, close enough that the ghost of her body's warmth teases his skin. He watches her, holding his breath.

"May I?" The soft, sweet quality of her voice contends with the determined, hungry look in her eyes.

His face flushes. His mind goes blank. He's more hers than his own, now. 

He nods.

Her fingers caress the silken flesh at the base. Orange hair prickles at the back of her hand. She seizes him in her fist. There's a smile in her eyes. She presses a kiss into the head, and eases her lips around him.

His hands tangle in her hair.

Her cheeks hollow. Her lips meet the side of her coiled fist. He's disappeared from sight, completely taken in by her mouth, by her hand. Her mouth is hot and wet against him, the sides of her cheeks plush and snug around him. She circles him with her tongue, and laps intensely at the stiff place just beneath the head. 

He shudders a breath. He bucks his hips into her face.

He grows rigid against her tongue. She feels him seep at the back of her throat and grins against him. She meets his gaze as she purses her lips across the length of him, then slowly eases her way back. Then again.

His eyes are closed, his brow wound tight. His hair fans across his face and his fingers caress all around her head, woven in her hair. Strangled moans rain down on her from above.

"Ah," he hisses as she bobs her head. "F-fuck."

A low chuckle simmers in her chest and quakes against him, captive in her mouth.

His tightens his grip. Pulls her head into him as he thrusts into the back of her throat.

He pours more of himself inside, one short spurt and then another. She moves to cup him in her hand, tightly wound and near bursting.

"Oh shit." He says. "Shit, shit, shit."

He breaks from her lips and steadies himself in his hand. He's swollen. A wet tendril drips from his head and down onto her thigh. He bites his lip and gasps for air.

He spares her a glance, a little bashful. "Sorry. That was really, really good. I just wanna fuck you before I--"

She grins. "Don't apologize."

A lopsided smirk grows across his lips. "Yeah. Okay."

She lays back against the futon, surprisingly dense at her back. She tugs her arms free of the long maiden's sleeves of her kimono, and he's there, kneeling between her legs before she can beckon him closer.

His robe hangs from his shoulders like a cape. It's golden on the outside with patterned crimson silk on the inside. It drags across the floor as he covers her body with his own. She feels him at her inner thigh. She feels his lips against hers. She works her thumbs down his abdomen, pinging against the muscles there like the rungs of a ladder.

He is the sun as day meets dusk. He bathes everything in an orange tinted light. He casts shadows. He provides the last burst of warmth before the cold of the night.

His lips move feverishly against her. She parts her lips and he delves inside with his tongue. He groans into her, his knuckles scraping against her thigh as he pushes between her legs.

She holds his hips in her hands as he pushes inside.

He fits as if he was made for her. His body knows the shape of her. It molds to it, creates and breaks a seal over and over again. He knows what she likes. He provides it, sometimes with a whispered question, and sometimes without.

He moves his hand to the connection between them and flickers his thumb across her clit. He presses kisses below her ear and whispers to her. His hand is at the back of her knee, holding her open to take him in.

"Tohru," he says in a voice just for her. "Fuck, I want you so bad."

Her chest heaves against his. She clamps her eyes shut at the flood of sensations. His light is everywhere, just like the sun's.

She grabs him by the rear and pulls him into her. She whimpers with every snap of his hips.

"You have me." She pants.

Their shadows move frantically across the walls. He leaves her empty, then stuffs her full. Again. Again. Again.

There's silk at her back. His skin is flush against her. The sounds that fall from his lips and linger at her ear blend with hers in the lamplight, in that little guest house in the dark. Their bodies move together. His sweat bleeds into hers. His hair fans across hers at her forehead. Their breath joins between kisses.

His muscles stiffen beneath her hands. Her eyes dilate. Their gaze goes unbroken and he moans into her open mouth. She claws against his back as he swells inside her.

Something blossoms from deep inside. It feels like magic as it sparkles one minute, and explodes the next. They move as one, breathing and fucking and screaming until their shadows still.

He rests his head on the pillow between her neck and her shoulder. He catches his breath and stares at her through fluttering eyes. He moves to stroke her face.

She surrounds his hand with hers and closes her eyes for just a minute.

* * *

Daylight pours in from all around them, dispersed through the air by the thin paper walls. It glitters across her hair. It gilds her skin.

He glances down at their tangled forms, cloaked by the fabric of his kimono.

He watches her sleep, chest rising and falling like the tides. She's tranquil. Content. There's no pretense or anxiety knit into her nervous smile, just her.

He leans toward her and kisses that serene smile. She doesn't stir. He chuckles.

He props his head in the bed of his hand and studies her. He commits each line to memory, as if she might slip away.

But she won't. He knows. Soon, impossibly soon, she'll be his and his alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I nearly made myself late for work trying to get this chapter out in time for today's episode. Thank you so much to everyone who has read, subscribed, bookmarked, and left kudos for this story. We're just about halfway through now.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed.


	8. She Would've Loved This

There's a place, far from the shore, where the sky meets the sea. The air there is cool and light and carries little pieces of the ocean with it in a fine spray. Enough to taste. The sun is a distant disc overhead. Its light filters through the mist and gives the whole beach an ethereal glow. The sand is warm and fine. Mussel shells shine atop it like shaved opal. They catch the light and twinkle -- pastel stars in a white sand sky.

This place is home. Or it will be, very soon.

"She would've loved this," she says into the ocean breeze.

"Your mom?"

She nods, watching the waves roll over one another and swallow up the shore. "She said we used to live by the ocean when my dad was still alive. I don't remember it, though."

He places his hand to her head and sifts her hair between his fingers.

She blinks up at him. A somber smile pulls at her lips. "But I'm happy we'll be living here together. You and me."

He nods. "Yeah. This way, you can come to the beach any time you want."

"You have to come too."

He chuckles. "Okay. If I have to."

She traipses down the sand, the wet grit of it sloshing beneath her feet. "You know, I think you secretly really like the beach."

He follows after her. "Yeah? What gave you that idea?"

She throws a look over her shoulder towards him. "A few things. You spent so much of our summer trip to the beach house with me right by the water. You even got in! You arranged for us to move to a town right by the sea…And you sure are smiling a lot right now for someone who supposedly hates the ocean."

He slips his arm around her and falls in step at her side. "Mm, you make some good points. But I didn't do all that 'cause I like the ocean."

"No? Why?"

"Same reason I watch your show with you, goof."

Her eyes widen as if she's discovered something. "You mean you like Mogeta too?"

He shakes his head with a smirk. "No, I like  _ you. _ "

Her dark eyes glimmer in the sunlight. Her cheeks pinken. She takes his hand in hers and holds it to her chest. A smile graces her lips.

"Aw. I like you too, Kyo." The sound of her voice is underscored by waves sloshing against the shore. "You do so many little things every day to show you're thinking of me. You don't have to like all the things I do, but you're always right there with me while I enjoy them. I hope those memories are happy ones for you, even if you didn't like what we were doing. A-and I'll work hard to do the same for you!"

He chuckles. He takes the back of her head in the palm of his hand. He graces her forehead with a kiss.

"You already do."

His hand falls to her neck, then her back. He studies her through warm, adoring eyes.

For a moment, she feels the air and space fall away between them. She glimpses her reflection in his eyes and sees the same expression there. Even as the focus shifts, as her reflection sinks into the amber eyes she so adores, a part of her remains.

When did she become a piece of him?

She touches her fingers to her belly, crumpling her clothes between them.

He's a piece of her, too. Inextricable.

She heaves a breath. "S-so you really do hate the ocean then?"

"It's fine." He shrugs. "I just like it when you're happy. If the ocean makes you happy, then that's where we'll be. Plus nobody 'secretly loves the ocean', weirdo."

" _ You _ make me happy." She asserts. "The ocean has nothing to do with it."

He quirks a brow. "Mm, I think maybe it has a little to do with it."

She grins. "Super little. So small, I didn't even think about it until you said something."

"I knew I'd beat the ocean eventually."

He wields their intertwined fingers with pride, then lets them rest between them. He saunters aimlessly down the coast, guiding her by the hand. He stuffs one hand into his pocket.

She glances around the beach. Everyone's eyes are on the water. They shield their eyes with their hands and look far off into the horizon, where a thin strip of mist splits the sky and the sea.

But he's looking at her.

* * *

The day burns on.

They sit at the bar of a noodle shop where the stools are so tall that Tohru's feet can't reach the floor. They wander the main road through town, glancing at arrangements of fruits and greens on display tables and ducking into small shops. They watch a stranger play shamisen in the street. She places a few bills in his case and applauds him. Minutes tick away before Kyo can redirect her enthusiasm someplace else.

She peruses the shelves of an antique store. He watches her from the front, near the register, as she runs her hands across dusty wooden sideboards and holds little glass treasures to the light.

She turns to him, a jade figurine gleams in her hands under a splinter of daylight.

"Kyo, look!" She beams.

He joins her at her side. He glides his palm across her back. His lips give an upward tick as he inspects the jade Buddha statuette, its sheen dimmed by a thin layer of dust.

He tilts his head towards her. "You should get it."

Her expression humbles. "I couldn't."

"Why not? You like it, right?"

She turns it in her hands. A lingering smile plays on her lips. "I do. But where would I put it?"

He gives her shoulder a squeeze. "You can decide once we start settin' up the apartment."

She shakes her head. "Mm, but it's kind of a frivolous purchase, isn't it?"

"So what?" He smirks. "It makes you happy. It'll be the first thing anyone buys for our place."

"I don't know."

"Well I do." He plucks the statue from her hand and makes for the front of the store. "If you won't buy it, I will."

"Huh? B-but Kyo--"

The statue sits on the glass display case of the cashier's counter. Kyo fishes in his pocket for his wallet.

"Relax. It ain’t like it’s expensive. And it makes you smile. You deserve to have things you like."

The register closes behind the counter. He jams his wallet back into place, and offers the statuette to her in the palm of his hand. There's a stern frown pressed into his lips and love in his eyes.

She takes the statue, staring up at him.

The façade shatters. He breaks into a grin. "Ask for what you want. It’s okay."

She nods. 

He taps her forehead with the soft of his fist.

"R-right! I'm not very good at that, but I can try."

He sighs. He wraps an arm around her and pulls her to him. "I know. You'll get there."

He guides her through the door, a brass bell chiming after them.

* * *

The plan was to make a quick stop at their room at the inn. It's cooler here than she'd expected, and she needs something warm to wear. It was only supposed to be a minute. Maybe two.

But the door closes behind them and she watches his back as he walks to the window and pulls the curtain aside. He racks his forearm across the wall and leans in to watch the street. His shirt drapes across his strong shoulders and falls in waves down his back. The fabric hugs his frame as he breathes.

Her eyes linger. She drinks in glimpses of the body she knows so well. It dawns on her for the very first time since they arrived:

They're alone.

There's nobody quietly sending text messages or trying to sleep in the room next door. There's no need to time departures or muffle voices or worry about the marks they've left. No need to deafen ears to the sounds he makes when she makes him feel good.

They're alone. Finally, alone. And the air's as thick as water.

He raises his arms overhead and gives a stretch. The hem of his shirt teases just below his navel.

She crumples the end of her skirt in her fist. Forgets to breathe.

He's startled by the chill of her hands on his skin. Her fingers streak across his stomach and up his chest, tenting his shirt where her arms disappear beneath her sleeves. He glances down to find her thoughtful. Focused. 

She stares at him, imploring. 

He rests a hand on her hip. He traces a fold in her skirt with his thumb.

"What's up?" He smirks. 

Maybe he realizes it, too.

"Take this off, please," is her sweet command. "I want to look at you."

He doesn't hesitate. He sheds his shirt and casts it to the floor. His hands envelop hers, her fingers sketching the length of his torso. He rests his forehead where her bangs pour over her eyes.

She tilts her chin towards him. She closes her eyes and feels the ebb and flow of his breath across her cheeks.

"What d'you want?" He murmurs.

Her brows pinch. "Hm?"

"You told me what you wanted." He strokes her hair and his fingers snag at her shirt collar. "Tell me more."

She shrinks. A haze of red floods her cheeks and her gaze falls to the floor.

"I'll listen." He says in a voice she's heard a thousand times before. 

It's the tender tone of voice he has when she's stress-crying in his lap. It's the voice he uses when she's sick, when she's given out in body, in mind. For the times she's weak and gathered up in his arms, her safe place. His voice soothes the housefire inside her and builds a hearth for it to safely burn.

She brushes her fingers against his cheek. She exhales, less stressed and more self-possessed.

"Kiss me."

He does. His lips are warm and ready to greet her once more. One hand cradles the back of her neck and he slides the other up her back, her shirt bunching at his wrist.

Her lips brush the corner of his mouth. "Take my clothes off."

He tugs her shirt out from under her skirt. He watches her hair cascade across her naked skin as it falls to the floor. He curls his fingers beneath her waistband and works it down her hips until she stands in a pool of cotton and chiffon. 

His arms enfold her. His rough fingertips glide up her spine and tease at the lace flowers knit into her bra. It comes loose and he peels it from her chest. His hands caress her attentively from the slopes of her shoulders to her upper thighs. He holds her in his hands, fingers pressing little coins of shadow into her skin. He drags her underwear down her legs.

His nose pushes against the top of her thigh as she steps out of her underwear. He blesses her there with a kiss. His fingers scale her legs, rub circles into her hips as he looks up at her.

She combs through his hair with pink fingernails. She gazes back at him, breath hitching, heart thrumming.

He raises his head to kiss her between her legs. He tightens his grip on her hips. He keeps his eyes on her as he flicks his tongue across her.

She blazes under the amber glow of his attention. She smears her thighs against each other. Held breath batters her lungs like a gust of wind to locked shutters. She presses her lips together. A small sigh escapes.

It's enough encouragement for him. His fingers probe between her legs and knead at her from behind. He watches her composure crumble as he draws his tongue across her. Every squeak and sigh falls down around him like sandstone bricks into the sea.

He pulls back just a hair and speaks into her skin. "Tell me what you want."

She closes her eyes. Her fingers press into his scalp.

"More." She says. "Use your fingers."

He pulls his hand in front of him so she can see. He raises two fingers together towards the sun. His lips close around her clit. She feels him flicker his tongue against her and watches as he drives up and into her. His fingertips sink in. 

She opens her legs to him. He pumps inside. He curls his fingers, stroking her sweetly, intently, from within. She watches muscles strain against his skin.

Her voice tangles in the air -- pitchy and free. Vibrations rip through her as he moans into her flesh. He fights with his belt. He shoves a hand past the unzipped fold of his jeans and works himself over where she can't see him. She drips down his fingers into the palm of his hand.

"Fuck me." She sharply says.

He squints against the feelings she conjures up under his skin.

"Please."

He takes her on the chair by the window. Life on the street below carries on, but all he can see is the arch of her back as he stuffs himself inside her. His hands frame her hips and rock her back and back and back onto him. It's a blissful chaos, the creaking of the chair, the sound as their bodies collide, her screams, and the frantic drumming of his heart in his ears.

"Wait," she gasps.

His hands slide from her hips to the curve of her ass, flush against his skin. He stills her in the palms of his hands. He listens.

"I want to see you when you cum." She says tersely as she fights for a breath.

He bites his lip. "God damn."

He pulls himself free from inside her, hissing through his teeth. His hands are on her, taking her to the floor. He cradles her head in his hand, watching her face as he points himself between her legs and pushes his way back in.

Her eyes flutter closed. Her lips part. She moans. He pins her knee to her chest. A broad hand squeezes her thigh.

They're held together by a single thread. Fibers snap and curl away with every stroke. It almost breaks from the look he wears as he studies her from above. He twitches and nearly slips away with the tide when she screams his name. He watches her as he makes her feel whole again and again. 

He's so mindlessly complete -- a little less himself, and a little more them.

He clamps his eyes shut. His chest heaves as if he's been struck. He swells. His breath comes in shallow bursts and he closes her in his embrace. He sinks his teeth into her neck and screams into her skin. He shakes under her fingers. The thread breaks. 

He unravels beautifully, she thinks. It's the last coherent thought she has before the quake of his hips tips her over the edge. She spirals along with him, fingernails tilling his back. She weathers the storm as thunder builds and explodes deep in her belly. She grips him tight between her legs. She can't release until he's given her the last of him.

His cheek brushes against hers. He tucks her hair behind her ear. Nirvana passes behind his eyes. He offers her a tired smile. A kiss.

* * *

The smell of baked bread wafts down the avenue. It mingles with the smell of trees, wet with rainwater. It tangles with the subtle sweetness of budding flowers on branches, with the smell of firewood burning in cold, early days of Spring. Plumes of black smoke rise from the rooftops around them and stream thin across the expanse of blue sky overhead.

He watches the black banners of smoke billow and disappear in the breeze. He thumbs at the box in his pocket and bites at the inside of his cheek. He feels her tug him by the hand.

She bounds backwards on her feet toward the bakery storefront, towing him along. "Let's go in there!"

He narrows his eyes at the address emblazoned just below the lip of the roof.

"It smells good, doesn't it?" He smiles down at her.

She nods. "Mhm. I'll buy you anything you like."

He chuckles as she guides him over the threshold. "You don't hafta convince me, I'm comin' with you."

Her fingers pull from his. He watches her lay her hands across the curved display window and feast upon the array of breads and cakes and buns with her eyes. The woman behind the counter dries her hands on her apron and sparks a conversation. Tohru's voice bounces the way it always does, her excitement irrepressible and her smile infectious. He steps up behind her, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

She glances back at him, her finger pressed against the glass. "How does nikuman sound?"

"Sounds good." He nods toward the baker, and flashes two fingers. "We'll have two, please."

She snaps open a paper bag and reaches across the shelf.

He steals her attention once more. "And d'you have the keys for the apartment upstairs? The landlord said we could pick 'em up here."

Tohru spins to look at him, half shocked and half elated. "What? You mean we're going to live here?"

He chuckles as the baker woman shovels the buns into the bag and props them on the counter. She turns to rifle through a drawer, and presses the key into his hand.

"Not  _ here _ here, I mean, but this is...?"

He grins and tosses the keys towards her. "Yeah, this is it. We're right upstairs."

She yelps and claps them in her hands. She lays a crisp bill on the counter as Kyo scoops up the bag. He gives a nod.

"Lead the way."

* * *

They eat pork buns together on the rooftop of their new home. 

An open window is at their backs. Sun skates the curve of the jade Buddha he bought for her as it sits on the sill. The cold sweeps in through two empty rooms and a narrow kitchen, all their own.

The sun dips below the mountain range on the horizon. Streams of yellow, orange, and pink light spear from the crown of the setting sun and shoot across the sky, obscured only by the thickness of the clouds.

There's a chill in the air that tells of the coming night.

She sits between his legs, knees tucked to her chest. Her cardigan takes the brunt of the cold and curls beneath her. He sits with one leg splayed across the roof tiles and one bent around her. He holds her in a loose hug, one arm stretched across her chest.

He swallows the last of his nikuman. He sucks in a breath.

"Y'know," he sighs. "I spent a long time loving you and being scared shitless about it."

She nods with a rueful laugh. "Yeah, me too."

He rests his emptied hand in her lap, palm open to her like half a prayer.

"I was as happy as I knew how to be, back then. I loved you, but I'd already decided you couldn't love me back. Thinkin' I was gonna get locked up, I thought I was making' the most of our time together, when really I was wasting it. What an idiot."

Her small hand fits perfectly inside his, her fingertips kissing the underside of his knuckles. 

"Hey." He can hear the pain in her voice when she speaks into the sun-streaked dusk. "Be kind to yourself."

He kisses the corner of her eye through her hair. The bridge of his nose musses her bangs as he nods against her.

"Force a' habit. My bad." He says into her skin. "What I mean is: I'm not gonna make the same mistake twice. Like I told you, I only needed the one chance and I'd make you so happy. I'll do it forever if you let me."

She relaxes into the shelter of his embrace. Here, the cold ocean air can't reach her. There's only him.

"You do make me happy, Kyo. Every day. More than anyone."

One hand disappears from view. She feels him fumble with something behind her. The sunset catches her attention, sky aglow with radiant bursts of pink and orange. 

Then his hand reappears. There's a small wooden box between his fingers. His hands tremble as he flicks it open. Sunset's sorbet colored light splinters through the prism of a diamond ring. It sits on a bed of white silk. Her reflection lies distorted in the golden band.

"Forever?" He asks. 

His voice quivers in his throat. She can feel it.

She can't breathe. 

She watches tears well in her eyes in the hoop of her engagement ring. Tears sting at her eyes and she can't blink them away fast enough. She strains to hear him as wind chills the fresh wet tracks that roll down her cheeks. She sobs.

She knits her fingers in his.

He struggles to soothe his nerves. His breath is shallow and shaky, but he inhales the smell of her hair like he needs it to survive. Ocean spray and the memory of her shampoo anchor him. Still, he shakes.

He closes her fingers in his. He feels himself tremble in her grasp.

"I never wanted anything so bad in my life." he rasps.

She cries like a child. Her shoulders hike and she shuts her eyes against the hot stream of tears that just won't end. Her body quakes. She holds his hand tight between her fingers and gasps for a breath.

He holds her.

She rubs at her eyes with a sleeve pulled over her fingers. She sees his hand wobbling, her ring bobbing and distorting the sunset. Her voice quavers on her lips. 

"Yes. Yes, I want to be with you forever." she weeps, "Please. Th-that's all I really want."

She stretches her fingers towards the setting sun.

"Can you put it on for me, please?"

She feels his brow tense at the crown of her head. His breath warms her cheek. Her heart aches at the sound of his sniffling.

He untangles his fingers from hers. He holds her ring to the light and eases it onto her finger. His thumb and forefinger sketch loving lines on either side of her ring finger. He takes her hand in his and presses a kiss into her fingers, ring and all. Tears bleed into her knuckles.

"I love you." he croaks.

She eases into his embrace and closes her eyes. She flexes her fingers to caress the curve of his cheek. Every shared teardrop rains serenity on the both of them.

"I love you too."

He holds her close. He holds her till his heart stops battering his chest. He holds her till the sky turns black and the opaque splash of the Milky Way runs like a river overhead. He holds her long after the shaking stops. 

He treasures the woman in his arms. He hangs on her every honeyed word as she promises him all her tomorrows. He cherishes the hand at his cheek, now adorned with the ring meant only for her. He turns to press a kiss into her palm.

He sinks into this new reality like a hot bath. It soothes him to his bones.

* * *

Her hair spills out across the bedsheets like waves on the sand. Everything is painted in grayscale by the night. Her cheeks are flushed. Her lips are pursed and her voice tinges the air.

He knots his fingers in the sheets. He holds her hip like he'll be swept away without her. His heart hammers beneath his chest and his voice grates his throat raw. Something famished and gnarled screams inside him. It gleams in his eyes as he watches her squirm. It is the pride that swells in his chest when she whimpers his name. It's the pang of something like hunger in the pit of his stomach that demands to be fed. He wants all of her.

He grinds against her for relief.

A sigh rises from the pit of his stomach. His hand slides up the bow of her waist. He rolls his thumb over her nipple.

She shivers.

The distance closes between them. His hips slide into hers with a smack. He cranes his neck and loses himself to her kiss. He traces the shape of her lip with his tongue, squeezes her breast in his hand.

Her fingers creep along the back of his neck and tease at his hairline. Warm metal drags across his skin, the circlet of her engagement ring and the heat built between them. She grabs at his low back with her other hand. Her nails rake across the horizon where his spine meets his hips. Her hand, flush against his skin, floats like a buoy on the water as he glides in and out of her.

The world feels less like the space around them and more like an extension of their bodies, themselves. He rolls his hips and they become one. They breathe together through a kiss. His chest rises. Hers falls. Their legs tangle in the sheets. Their voices meld together in midair. 

The room is dark. But still he sees her face when he closes his eyes. Her brow is tense, lips wet from his, as she focuses on feeling.

He groans. Runs his hand along her cheek. He opens his eyes, and sees her blink up at him. Her eyes capture all the light in the blackened room and twinkle up at him like stars in the night.

“Get on top,” he whispers.

The mattress creaks as he comes to sit at its edge. She hikes her leg over his hip and sits naked in his lap. Her fingers cross the distance from chest to shoulder. She cradles him in her hands and rises to her knees. She gazes into his eyes in the dark. She scrapes her bottom lip between her teeth. She crashes down onto him. He shivers into the palms of her hands.

"Oh my god."

He lays his forehead in the space between her breasts. His shoulders tense beneath her hands. His fingers curl against her back. His breath snags in his throat. Eyes snapped shut, he trembles.

He wrenches her down into his lap. His fingers pull ay her skin. They streak down her spine, grasp at her shoulder. He rises from the edge of the bed and snaps his hips up into her. His voice stutters to life and peals across her chest.

" _ Tohru _ ."

She crosses her ankles behind his back and wraps him in her arms. She can feel him throb, radiating heat from the inside out.He's a lone solar flare in the silence of space. She scrapes desperate designs into his back. 

A wave crests deep in her belly. Her eyes fly open and she stares, unseeing, towards the moon-splashed ceiling. Her existence expands to include him for a few, infinitesimal moments. Their hearts beat, their bodies breathe in a shared rhythm -- an immediate and innate communication. The roll their hips tight together as the wave crashes down over them.

She gasps in his ear, lips dragging across his skin. He is ensnared by her body's embrace. He feels each wave as it washes over her, muscles swelling, receding, then swelling again. She strangles him. She feels like silk. She feels like a vice. She feels as necessary as breathing, and just as natural.

He can't hold it anymore.

He sucks hard at her breast and floods her from inside.

They hold each other in the dark as they tremble. The tide pulls away and leaves them gasping for air. He shakes his head deliriously against her chest, her sweat smearing across his forehead and into his hair. Tears prick the corners of his eyes. He smiles. He kisses her between gasps.

Her hands fold behind his neck. She hugs him close and rests her head at his crown. He shudders. He weeps. A silent brook streams from her eyes and wets his hair. Something so happy, it transcends words, is understood between them as they sit back, tangled together, on their bed.

Somewhere in the night, in a quiet village by the sea, a jade Buddha sits in the window of an empty apartment overlooking the sleepy street they'll soon call home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of publishing this chapter, I'm getting married in two weeks! I wanted to make sure I got this chapter out in time for Kyoru week this year -- can you tell what Tohru and Kyo wish for? This chapter is weirdly shorter than some of the others, though it really doesn't feel that way.
> 
> There are some songs in particular that inspire me most when writing chapters. For those curious, the one for this chapter was "See You Again" by Tyler, the Creator and Kali Uchis. Give it a listen if you like.
> 
> Anyways, this chapter was a long time coming. I wanted to take my time with it to make sure I got the most important conversation in the entire narrative correctly. I'd be so honored if you shared your thoughts with me.
> 
> Thank you as always!


	9. Congratulations

"Congratulations." She says, hands planted on her hips as she surveys the sun-spliced classroom.

"You made it," the hint of a smirk teases at the corner of her mouth. "There were easy times. There were difficult times, too, but you persevered and here you are. I’m certainly proud, but really you should all be proud of yourselves. It was you who committed the time and effort to make this day a reality."

"Some of you will go on to university. Some'll join the workforce. Some'll travel and some'll stay close to home. Wherever you go and whatever you go on to do, know you've accomplished this on your own merits in combination with the support of your community; your peers, your families, your teachers, and everyone who ever offered a word of encouragement and support where you needed it."

She shakes her head with closed eyes. The sun warms her face. She opens them again and tilts her head, arms crossed. Her sandy colored hair shags unto her shoulder. The school bell rings for the very last time.

Shiraki smiles in earnest, perhaps for the first time, in front of students who are no longer hers. 

"Thank you for the experience, all of you. Be well."

There's an eruption of sound as students stow away their belongings and scrape their chairs across the floor. Boys loosen their ties and rap one another on the shoulders. Eager voices spill in through the open door as classmates walk their final walk through Kaibara's halls.

Uotani slaps the wall above the doorframe as she barrels into the hall with a joyful shout. Hanajima plods silently after her, but halts just beyond the threshold. Her black braid snakes over her shoulder as she watches for Tohru in the thinning crowd.

"You're coming down to the quad for photos, right?"

Tohru wipes away a tear with the back of her hand and gives a spirited nod. "Of course!"

Yuki tilts his head and steps into Hanajima's shadow. "We're right behind you."

Shiraki crosses her arms. "Sohma, if I could get a minute of your time? It'll be fast."

Yuki, Kyo, and Tohru look back at her.

She clears her throat. "Heh. Right.  _ Kyo _ , can I borrow you a second? Like I said, I'll be brief."

He shares a look with Tohru as Yuki and the others disappear into the hall. Something hopeful sparkles in her eyes. He furrows his brow and pulls their intertwined hands in close as he approaches Shiraki's desk.

She raises a brow and tries to maintain a cool expression. "I take it it's fine with you if Honda sticks around for this?"

He sets his jaw and nods. "Yeah, that's right."

Tohru leans in at his side. She bites her grin as he slides his thumb over the ring on her finger.

"I was really impressed with your work this year, so I went ahead and wrote you a recommendation letter vouching for your computation skills and reliability with turning in quality work within a deadline. I know you said in your conference that you aren't interested in pursuing higher education or a career, but I still thought I'd give this to you in case you change your mind."

Her fingertips splay across the envelope at her desk. She looks at once at ease and severe, expression inscrutable under half-mast eyes.

Kyo studies her. His fingers tighten around Tohru's. He strokes circles into her engagement ring with the pad of his thumb.

Tohru class a hand over her mouth as happy tears brim in her eyes. She reels her attention towards him, cheeks swelling with a smile.

"I'll pass." He says.

"Kyo." Tohru’s face falls.

He looks at her. "Hm? Everything's already set up with the apartment and the dojo, so there ain’t much point in holdin' onto a piece of paper that says I’m good for somethin’. I won’t use it for anything."

“But--”

Shiraki closes her eyes with a hapless smirk. She digs her thumbs into her belt loops and gives a nod. "I see. In any case, congratulations." Her gaze lingers on the students' threaded fingers. "For many reasons. I wish you well."

Tohru presses her hands into her lap and gives a deep bow. "Thank you for everything, Ms. Shiraki. Really, we appreciate it so much."

Kyo bows at his shoulders and mumbles his thanks. He lingers in the open door, calling after Tohru.

She meets Shiraki's eyes one last time. "I-I’m sorry about that. He didn't -- Well, I -- We're really very grateful --"

Tohru reaches with hesitant hands for the letter. Shiraki gives a fraction of a nod, expression unchanged.

"Tohru. You wanted to take pictures with your friends, right?"

She's red in the face as she crinkles the paper between her hands and slides it into her book bag. Her hair fans around her like a dancer's skirts as she turns toward him.

"Yes! Coming!"

It starts small, almost imperceptible. It's a thumb at the corner of a page, dragging and creasing with an almost inaudible flick. That flick, quiet as feather on flesh, echoes in the faraway corners of her mind as she follows him to the courtyard and hugs his arm close. His voice moves through her as he speaks. His laughter rumbles softly from his body to hers, and she warms at the feeling.

His arm slips from her hands but he comforts her with a look. Because he knows that's all it takes. They stand a half-step apart, diplomas in hand, and grin at the tripod some feet away. White light flashes from Uotani's phone once, twice, and two times more.

He takes her under his arm and presses a clandestine kiss into her hair. He slows his step so the others pass them by.

"Hey. You did it." He says. "You should be proud."

He kisses her again. She closes her eyes to capture the feeling and capture it like a clover in the folds of a book. She glows inside. 

But the flicking stops. The hand tears the page from its spiral and crushes it. This feeling inside her, like a fistful of papercuts.

"So should you, Kyo." But she sounds sadder than she ever meant to be.

She watches it shake him. He knots his brow. He pulls back to make her gaze. His mouth opens but the words don't reach her. Uo and Hana and Yuki find their way back to them and a new conversation washes away the one unspoken.

The reception was warm when they came back from their trip. Shigure and Yuki were unsurprised but supportive. Hana and Uo received tearful phone calls and were at the door with trays of food, eager to hear the story of their engagement from Tohru in person. As with all things in the Sohma family, it spread quickly and quietly. Between the return from their trip and today’s graduation, there hadn’t been much time to put together a celebration just for their engagement. Today’s party’ll celebrate the changes in broad strokes, including theirs. 

Especially theirs.

Someone cracks a joke as they tear open the front door. Kyo smiles, however half-hearted.

She tries to stop it. When he smiles, her heart flutters and she cuts the feeling at the stem. Basks in his joy as sugarwater bleeds from the wound. But the smile fades and the feeling sprouts again. Paper crumples between clenched fingers all the way up her spine. Her skin prickles.

"Hey. What's wrong? Did I fuck up or something? You can tell me. It’s okay." He reaches out to her.

She takes a step back. "I’m not sure if I can put it into words yet. But I don’t feel very good about...well. I-I'm going to get ready. The others will be here soon."

He wears his hurt with a frown. "Oh. Sure. I, uh, I'll give you some space."

She smiles, grateful. "I’ll be back down soon. Can we talk about it later?"

He nods.

The stairs creak under her feet. His voice is depleted when he calls gently after her, his hand perched on the wall and his eyes chasing the flutter of her skirt. She looks back.

"I love you." He says, words crashing like waves behind his teeth.

She falls apart with a smile. "I love you too."

Her footfalls are all that remains of her as she disappears around the corner. He doesn’t chase after her.

She screams into a washcloth in the shower and lets her tears flush away with the spray. She emerges dressed in red, the smell of fresh cut flowers on her skin. She tiptoes down the stairs, one hand held close to her chest. Lively sounds of conversation ricochet off the walls, but the foyer is empty. 

"But Big Sister doesn't swear." Kisa's quiet little voice cuts through the fray.

"Mm. That's true, isn't it?" Shigure replies.

" _ I've _ never heard it, anyway." And Hiro too.

Tohru slips past the great room and into the kitchen, unseen.

Hatsuharu raises his voice to cross the room. "Hey, Kyo. Does Tohru swear?"

"Huh? Yeah, sometimes." Kyo says, eyes glued to his phone.

That draws their attention.

Hiro scoffs. "You must be joking. No she doesn't."

Kyo shrugs, apathetic. "She does."

" _ When _ have you heard her swear?"

Red irises are partly obscured by thick lashes as he tightens his brow. He says nothing. Something simmers in his eyes.

Hatsuharu nods. He roves a thoughtful hand over his chin. "Oh."

"What do you mean 'Oh'?" Hiro's attention flits between the two. "He didn't say anything."

A frown pulls at Haru's lips. "He did, though."

"How? I don't understand."

"He means Tohru only swears when they--"

"They're  _ kids _ , Haru." Kyo snaps.

Haru pauses. He raises a paternal index finger and wags it before the children. "I mean I'll tell you when you're older."

He turns to Kyo. "There. How was that?"

"It would'a been better if you'd just stayed quiet." He says through clinched teeth.

Kyo's attention returns to his phone's screen. His words glow back up at him, one clumsy attempt after another to no avail, no response. He stares at her name emblazoned on the banner at the top of the screen. He flicks his thumb across the slab and scours her messages for answers. He reads in her voice, the sound of it seared indelibly into his mind.

He grits his teeth and thumbs another message.

"He says he knows you're mad at him." The screen's reflection splashes a warped rectangle across Rin's nail polish. Her hair flicks out of her eyes as she turns to look at Tohru. "Says he's ready to talk when you are."

Long brown hair is bound up behind her back. The dress sways just slightly as she works sticky rice into form with her hands. Her brows are tensely knit. She stares holes into the food.

"I'll tell him to fuck off." Rin mutters as she drags her finger across the screen.

Tohru squeaks. "Wait! P-please don't tell him that!"

"Why not?" She gives a harsh look. "You can't even stand to read his texts -- you've got  _ me _ doing it. You're clearly not interested in talking. And he's a coward who can send ten texts but won't bother to come see you in the next room."

"I'm actually not mad at him for that."

"But you  _ are _ still mad at him."

She frowns. "I...I am!"

Rin's fingernails click against the glass. "I'm telling him to fuck off."

"Don't! Isuzu, please."

"Talk to him or don't. If I've got to keep doing this, I'm going to hurt his feelings."

Tohru gnaws at her lip. "Can you tell him to meet me in the laundry room?"

Rin quirks a brow. 

Tohru flushes. “S-so we don’t distract from the party.”

"I could just break up with him for you."

Tohru flails her arms with a shriek. " _ No _ , definitely don't do that!"

He holds the door open for her as she pads into the room. It closes after him without a sound, the dryer filling the space with its mechanical whirr. He stands at the center of the room, head low and hands in his pockets. She leans against the washing machine, arms crossed. She looks at the floor and chews at the inside of her lip.

“I’m upset.” She speaks over the sound of the laundry and the party outside the door.

“I know. Can you tell me what I did? I’m sorry, I never meant to--”

Her brows knit. “You...actually don’t know what I’m upset about?”

She looks directly at him now. Her head shakes and a frown tugs at her lips. They’re on the precipice of something painful, he can tell. He sinks into his shoulders.

“Well I know I’m the reason, at least.” He smiles, but there’s nothing in it. “I’m sorry I didn’t hold you in our graduation pictures. I just thought--”

She shakes her head. “What? No, please don’t worry about that. It’s okay.”

He raises brow and rubs at the back of his neck. “Okay. Then what was it?”

Tohru drops her hands to her sides and gathers the hem of her dress in her fingers. “Y-your conversation with Ms. Shiraki.”

His eyes widen.

“You were so rude and dismissive a-and all she was trying to do was support you! I was so excited when she said she wrote you a recommendation letter -- so  _ proud _ of you. And you acted like it didn’t matter at all. Usually to get something like that, you have to make a request. Your teacher just wrote you a recommendation letter because she saw what you could do. Yuki had to  _ ask _ for his. You were  _ offered _ yours and you basically told her to throw it away!”

He’s still a long while, just watching her. Then his shoulders quake. He bears his teeth and starts to laugh. A large hand goes to his face and he tucks into it, eyebrows taut.

It’s just a moment, but even it feels too long. Something sharp stings in the pit of her stomach. Her face feels hot. She closes her hands into fists at her sides. The soft glow of lamplight skates across the surface of her engagement ring.

He curbs his laughter by clearing his throat. He pushes the hair from his eyes with the heel of his hand. His eyes meet hers. He looks smitten like always, but desperately sorry too.

"Shit. Sorry. I'm sorry. I don’t mean to laugh." A grin surfaces on his lips like a patch of sunbeams through the clouds. "It's just that this time last year, I thought I was crazy imagining just getting to hold you. Now it's graduation night and you're wearin' your ring and we're havin' a fight, like real couples do. I -- somethin' about that makes me happy, I guess."

A smile breaks through her tight-lipped frown, but it gives way to creeping frustration. "We  _ are _ a real couple."

The cracks in her voice sink his smile. He rubs at the back of his neck. "You're right. We are. A-and you're right to feel the way you do. Shit, I'm mad at me too, now that you put it in perspective. I...I'm sorry, Tohru. That was shitty of me. I'll do better."

She burrows her brow. Her fingernails press into her palms and she stamps her foot on the floor.

"That's exactly what I mean. Now you'll do better for  _ me _ , right? Because I told you I didn't like what you did."

He swallows the lump in his throat. "Isn't that what you want?"

"No!" She shakes her head indignantly. "I want you to do better for  _ you _ . Because  _ you _ want to do things, because  _ you _ have choices and opportunities that  _ you _ earned, because you're thinking about  _ your _ future."

Her face reddens. Her eyes brim with angry tears. She hates the way her voice quivers. "The whole world opened up for you and sometimes you act like you're still not going to be a part of it. I  _ hate _ that!"

She rubs at her eyes as her fists weaken.

She weeps. "It scares me so much, Kyo."

Concern contorts his features and stirs in his stomach. He takes a step toward her, hands open at her sides. He hesitates.

"Is it -- is it okay if I touch you?"

She nods. She chases her tears with the backs of her hands.

It's all that he needs to take her in his arms. He weaves through her hair, hand cupping the back of her head and pulling her home to him. He tucks his cheek against the top of her head. His arms float on her every stuttered breath.

Soft, sudden gasps spill from her lips as she buries her head in his chest. Her fists, small and slack, come together behind his back. 

He leans into the hug, bittersweet as it is. She's angry. She's right to be. But the sight of her crying is too much. A rift tears open someplace inside. An emptiness like the space between stars leaks out into him. He's free falling, blind to what lies below. 

He pulls her a little closer.

"It's probably too little too late," he watches her hair thread through the cracks of his knuckles. "But I never thought about it that way; that I wasn't thinking about the future."

" _ My _ future." He amends. "I'll talk to Shiraki and see if she'd be willing to send it to me in the mail."

Her forehead smears across his chest. He looks down at her, puzzled.

"No?"

"I have it. It's in my bag. I saved it because you should have it, even if you don't end up doing anything with it."

"Tohru."

"What an awful thing, to reject someone who sees how good you are." Her chin rests at his solar plexus. She looks up at him with eyes narrowed, like she's staring into the sun. "I'm so mad at you for that."

There's sadness in his eyes. He nods and tries to say "I know", but the words won't come.

Her brows knit and tears drip from her eyelashes. "I'm so proud of you. A-and I want you to be proud too, but not because I asked you to be."

He nods. His throat bobs as he swallows the feelings that well up behind his tongue. His voice a phantom, he says, "Okay."

Her nose grazes his skin as she buries her face past the collar of his shirt. Small hands spread across his back, beneath his shirt. Her fingers fit into the ridges of his muscles. She curls them there, tilling shallow lines in his skin with her fingernails.

A shiver sparks up his spine like a finger across piano keys. The sweet music of her heartbeat and the wanting little voice caught in her throat draws him deeper into her arms. He winds her hair around his fingers and closes them into a fist. He takes a long drag.

Her fingers streak across his neck. She fumbles with the buttons on his shirt and paints every inch of his chest with her palms. She pushes the fabric down his shoulders and smooths her hands across the mounds of muscle there. Her fingernails scrape at his biceps as she helps him shrug his shirt to the floor. 

The way she looks at him is dizzying.

Breath comes cool between his teeth. "You sure you wanna--"

Her lips collide with his. She's hardly ever been so angry with him, and so desperate for his affection. She pulls her arms through the straps of her dress and grabs at his hand. She smooths her fingers across the rough skin there and pushes his fingers under her neckline. She whines into his mouth as he circles her with calloused fingertips.

He mumbles something desperate, something sweet against her lips and scoops her up, his hands gripping her under her thighs. He eases her on top of the dryer. He traces the slope of her neck with his tongue and swallows her smell with a sigh. His fingers hike the swell of her thighs and warm her skin beneath her dress. Cotton and elastic slink down her legs and dangle from her ankle. He kneels down and presses a kiss into her inner thigh. He meets her gaze, framed by cascading brown hair, ribbons, and the color of her cheeks.

His eyes narrow and his lips part. Her heart leaps at her chest and her ears strain to hear him, but the words are kissed into her thighs and breathed between her legs. She curls her fingers against the edges of the dryer and she clamps her eyes closed. Tremors pass through her. Her knees meet behind his head. She feels the cropped strands of hair at the back of his neck rub against her skin and the shapes he makes with his tongue. Her toes curl.

“K-Kyo,” she breathes.

He grabs her hard on the outer sides of both sides. He rolls her clit between his lips, lapping rhythmically at her with the tip of his tongue. Every breath is the scent of her. He groans.

The first time she cums nearly ruins him.

The dryer’s rumble masks the sounds of her screaming. Her fingers dig into the back of his head and hold him against her. Her hips lurch against his face. Her body shakes to the machine’s rhythm and her chest heaves. Her legs straighten across his back and her toes point towards the heavens.

He kisses the curve of her thighs, smearing slick against her skin. His hands drop to his waistband. His belt clatters to the floor.

He wants her. To touch her, hold her, fill her, possess her, consume her. His palm at the back of her neck, he pulls her lips to his. Mouths open. Melding. Wet. The other hand presses in at her tailbone. Flesh to flesh. Her heartbeat drums. Her voice hitches somewhere between her lips and his. Her chin is wet with the mess they've made. He crashes back into her kiss, snapping his hips tight against her.

His.

He wants to gather up all that she is and hold it tight in his hands. To drink her in like she’ll disappear. To close her flesh between his teeth and lick her until she screams. To lose himself in her till their colors bleed together and make something new.

Her love has made the best of him. 

It’s made a beast of him, too.

The lines that define her disappear as his hands move over her skin, as he shares his warmth and closes all the space between them, over and over again. It’s the gravelly chafing in his throat as his hips impact her. It’s the way he tugs at her hair with his hands to bring her closer. Her eyes loll back as he makes her full. She feels him brush his lips up her collar bone, then bite down at her shoulder. She steals a look at him through fluttering eyes.

His brows are furrowed. Tense. His breath spills out across her skin, cool and shallow. He releases her hair and digs into her low back with all his fingers. He slams her into his hips. A long drawn grunt grates from the depths of his chest to her ear.

Her eyes close. She rakes at his back, arms wrapping tight around his shoulders. She buries her face in his neck and rides the staccato rhythm of her breath.

The second time is his undoing.

Her muscles spasm and nebulas live and die behind her eyes. She presses into him from behind with her feet. Her fingernails scrape his back raw. Her screams peal through his chest. Tears warm the side of his neck and drip into the hollow of his collar bone. She strangles him from inside and traps him from without.

Hers.

His knuckles strain against his skin. He imbeds his fingers in her plush skin, wherever they lay. His voice lingers in every breath. He presses his nose into her hairline, her sweat cooling his cheek. Her thighs rub against his hips as he pulls her ever closer. He is full, he is empty, as tremors wrack his body.

He kisses up the column of her throat and sews some more along her jaw. He sings her praises into her skin, and warms as she smiles up into the ceiling tiles. 

"God, you're beautiful." He hums. "You're so good, Tohru, y’know that?"

She nuzzles him with the bridge of her nose. His skin simmers under the heat of her cheeks.

The creases of his knuckles glide along her collarbone, pushing her hair past her shoulder. He traces the shape of it with his fingers, then coasts back along her spine, resting in the shallow shadows cast by her shoulder blades. He scratches lightly at her back, fingers all tangled in her hair.

He pulls away just enough to meet her eyes. One hand knotted in her hair, tracing shapes into her back, and the other perched upon her hip. His chin tilts down. Light glows softly around the crown of his head. A halo.

She notices she's holding her breath. She exhales, running her fingers along the curve of his cheek.

"I'm so sorry I hurt you today." He rasps softly. He strokes the hollow of her hip with his thumb. "I sometimes forget I got a future ahead of me after all those years of...well."

He glances away a moment. His attention returns to her and he sets his jaw. "But when I look at you, I’m excited for today, tomorrow, next month, next year, the next decade -- everything."

She chuckles as tears blur her vision. The warmth of his hand leaves her hip as he wipes each of her tears away. She takes his hand and rests her cheek in it.

"I'll quit bein' short-sighted and dense someday. Obviously not today, but someday, I will. I promise."

She closes her eyes and listens for his heartbeat in his hand. "You're not dense or short-sighted. You're Kyo. And I love who you are."

She hears the smile in his voice. "Yeah? Even when I piss you off?"

She smiles back. Her laugh warms him, sets his shoulders at ease. 

"Of course."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been curious for a long time what a Kyo/Tohru fight would look like, and felt this was as realistic a circumstance as I could imagine. Plus I decided early in Everspring that I wanted them to have sex on top of the dryer. This chapter was quite fun to write, but was a struggle at times. There's a little bit of everything I wanted from their graduation, including background stuff. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> I've also started an art blog, where I post quite a lot of Kyoru artwork. You can check out chapter 5 of this story because I imbedded an NSFW Kyoru piece I did there. Or check out my blog itself at thecitybee.tumblr.com.
> 
> Be well! Thank you for reading!


	10. I Didn't Fuck 'Em Up Too Bad, Right?

Oil warms in the well of a pan. The range fan underscores a symphony of clinking dishes, a yawning oven door, and the singing of food under heat. The smell of stirred rice and stewed fish fills the house and spills out into the street. A delectable commotion colors the air.

Tohru and Kyo dance around each other, socked feet on glossy floorboards. She calls directions to him sweetly as she glides around the kitchen island, watching surreptitiously as he works. He pushes the hair from his eyes and tugs open the oven door, muscles clinching just beneath the skin. 

He scans the flaky tops of pastry inside, consulting and reconsulting the pages of a cookbook for success. He wads a dishcloth in his hand and reaches in, balancing an array of goods on a scalding sheet and sliding them onto the counter.

He looks up at her, vulnerable and expectant. His face is flushed. "I didn't fuck 'em up  _ too _ bad, right?"

A grin spreads wide across her lips. She rises to her toes and meets him under the lamplight. He falls face-first into her orbit.

They kiss over engagement cakes and floured countertops.

She tucks orange strands behind his ear and streaks her fingers down his neck. "They look wonderful."

He smiles. Presses his nose to hers.

Voices tangle in the hallway as they call Kazuma and Kunimitsu in. Idle chatter underscores the sharing of fresh baked treats. Many hands make short work of muddled countertops and stained stove tops.

Kyo's knuckles graze the small of her back as he unknots her apron and slings it over his shoulder. She peers back up at him over her shoulder. His eyes are soft and centered back at her. Wings spread and beat into the heavens, feathers fluttering freely in the air between them.

She parts her lips.

The doorbell rings.

His pupils shrink to pinpricks. She watches her face fall in her reflection splashed across his Autumn colored eyes. She wrings her hair through her hands. He wraps her apron around his forearm a time or two before depositing it on the counter. He smooths his hands across his pants.

Feet beat against the floors as they make for the front door. Kunimitsu grips the handle.

Kyo casts her an electrified look, lips pulled taut in a nervous smile. She returns it with a chuckle.

The door swings open. Late afternoon pours in past her aunt and grandfather in the doorway.

"Thank you for coming." Tohru says, bowing at the waist.

The show begins.

They sit, gathered around Kazuma's sleek dining room table. Air cooled from mountain snow seeps in through the window screen, puncturing the smell of fresh made food with its crispness. Kazuma and Kunimitsu sit near the furthest wall beneath the window, facing Tohru's family. Kyo and Tohru sit with their legs folded beneath them, heads bowed in respect, to the side wall, between their families.

Tohru's aunt clicks her tongue. "Alright, I see what this is." 

Her aunt roots around in her purse. The sound of clinking plastics and loose papers fall away as she produces a checkbook and pen. She lays them on the table and stabs pen to paper. Her eyes are cold as she stares Kazuma down across the table.

"How do you want to deal with this?" She sighs, irritable. "A quick and cheap ceremony before she starts to show? I can cut a check, but it'll be small."

"Excuse me?" Kazuma shakes his head in disbelief.

"I've got my own daughter to worry about, and frankly, I think your family can more than afford it."

Kazuma waves the thought away. "N-no, not that. The -- what you said earlier? About--"

"Yes, before she starts to show." Her aunt surveys Kyo and Tohru with stony derision. "People will talk, what with them marrying right out of high school, but--"

Kyo squeezes Tohru's hand and grits his teeth.

Tohru narrows her eyes and fixes her trembling lips into a firm line. "I'm not pregnant."

The woman wrinkles her brow. She looks to Kazuma, then to Kyo. "Oh, she isn't? Then why all this?"

Rage floods through him and crashes his composure. Some of it spills out in the way he bares his teeth. " _ Because-- _ "

"Because we're family." Tohru replies as she squares her shoulder and raises her face to the light. "Kyo and I are getting married, and I thought we should all celebrate together."

The woman huffs and rolls her eyes. She fixes her attention on the checkbook. "Right. Well, had I known this was a  _ traditional _ engagement ceremony, I'd have cleared my schedule and brought some gifts."

Tohru's smile is a hollow one. "That's not necessary, really. Just you being here is enough. Please, eat." She nods toward the serving dishes overflowing with flaky pastry, dark and aromatic ropes of seaweed and golden fish.

"We would, but your grandfather's got a doctor's appointment after this. Like I said, if we'd  _ known _ , well -- I suppose I shouldn't expect much from  _ Kyoko's _ child."

The words hang stale in the air over the table. A cord cinches closed around Tohru's throat and her fingers curl into the folds of her skirt. Her pupils shrink to pinpricks. Her cheeks burn as if stung by the palm of a hand.

Kyo gnashes his teeth behind a scowl.

"She and Katsuya sprung something similar on you, didn't they, Dad?" She doesn't wait for a response. "She hadn't even finished school. So adamant about getting married as soon as possible. And now again, with Tohru. Surely you can understand our skepticism."

Silence roars in her ears.

Her aunt tightens her lips and circles pen over paper, her gaze lingering on the food. "Well. She never was particularly smart or accomplished, but she can cook and clean. She'll make at least a decent wife to your--"

"Shut your damn mouth."

She meets Kyo's eyes across the table. She squints slightly, brows pinched. "...I'm sorry?"

"I said  _ shut up _ ."

Kyo rises to his feet and casts a long shadow over the table. He sets his jaw and glowers down his nose. His fingers strain as he wads them into fists at his sides. He speaks through his teeth.

"Look at Tohru.  _ Look at her _ ." He demands. "You've sat there and disrespected her from the minute you walked through that door. It's obvious you don't know a damn thing about her. This ain't about money or whatever the fuck you think it is -- she's your only goddamn niece and she's getting married and cared enough to include you. I tried playin' nice but I ain't gonna sit here and listen to your bullshit while she sinks into the floor. You need to pack your shit an' go."

She narrows her eyes, pen idle over paper. "I don't think I--"

"Now. Right now."

She glares at him as she scoops her things into her bag. She moves to stand, and holds an arm out to her father.

"Grampa can stay if he wants." He amends.

There's a moment of uncertainty as the woman meets her father's eyes, then those of the Sohmas. 

"This is no way to get a--"

Kyo sets his jaw. "We don't want your fucking money."

She recoils in disgust. "No one's  _ ever _ spoken to me like--"

He moves to her side of the table and watches as she stands and moves to gather her father. "Yeah, I'm sure."

Grandfather's hand shakes as he picks up his cardigan and rolls it up his arm. He wears a half-tired smile. Kyo steps in at his side and eases the other sleeve on.

"Congratulations, my dear." He says, "I'm so sorry my daughter's made such a miserable house guest."

"Dad!" She shouts.

Something glimmers in his wrinkled old eyes as he glances towards Kyo. He glances back to Tohru. "I'd stay, but--"

Tohru speaks over the lump in her throat. "I-I understand. It's okay."

"I'm so happy for you. And for what it's worth, I always liked the orange haired one."

Tohru manages a smile through tears. Her laughter is music. "Ah, h-his name is Kyo, Grampa."

He smiles back. "Kyo, then. You like him well enough?"

She nods. "I love him."

He pats her hands. "Good."

"Dad, let's  _ go _ ."

"Coming, coming."

Kyo digs his fingers in the doorframe as both of them pass by him. He wrinkles his nose and pitches toward the woman past the threshold, his lips pulled back with a growl. "You were only here because she  _ wanted _ you to be. Don't you  _ ever _ fucking talk about her like that again."

The woman draws back, defensive. She parts her lips to speak but his voice drowns out the sound.

Each word comes sharp between his teeth. "Next time you speak to her, it's an apology or it's nothing. You hear me? I ain't gonna do this with you a second time."

She crosses her arms. Grampa calls after her from the front gate. "Is that a threat, Mr. Sohma? Because I--"

He leans in close, his voice quiet and severe. "Get the fuck out and don't come back."

He presses his shoulder into the doorway. His eyes are cold as he watches her retreat a few paces and freeze. She wrings her hands, searching for leverage in the space between her fingers.

" _ Leave _ ." He barks.

His heartbeat hammers in his ears and he feels his pulse behind his eyes. His chest feels hollow, but electric as reality soaks into his skin. Like feathers floating in midair, long seconds between them and the ground, he floats in the liminal space between action and consequence.

He narrows his eyes against the harsh blue light of his cellphone as he raps out a message and pounds the name of each recipient. He snuffs out the screen and jams it back in his pocket. His pulse throbs in his fingers.

His feet beat against the wood floors as he makes his way back to her. Kunimitsu's in the hall, hauling trays of food from the dining room back to the kitchen. He meets Kyo's eyes, a grave expression on his face, and tilts his head back towards the open doorway behind him.

A patch of daylight spills out onto the floor in the hall. Kyo breaks it, stepping into its warmth. His shadow stretches across the wall at his back. Inside, he sees Kazuma at Tohru's side. His hand is on her back, his head lowered near her. He stops mid-sentence and looks up at his son, a tight frown on his lips. He gives a nod, and rises to his feet.

Kyo blinks, eyes unseeing into the window at the far end of the room. Kazuma rests his hand upon his shoulder and angles his head towards him as his kimono billows out after him.

"Are you okay?" He says, that caustically paternal tinge to his voice.

Kyo can't look at him. He offers a shallow half-nod.

"Alright. Take all the time you need," he softly says, fingers tapping idly against the fabric of his shirt. "Let us know when you're ready to talk."

Kyo nods as his father's hand drifts from his person and he slips from the room, the smell of black tea and cedar trailing after him. He looks down at Tohru, fingers coiling and releasing, useless, at his sides.

Kyo is on his knees in front of her before his next breath. Her eyes are red-rimmed and sorrowful as her fringe parts and sun spreads across her cheeks. His lips are parted, his brows knotted. His voice is caught in his throat as he watches a single, silent tear breach the corner of her eye and follow the curve of her cheek.

"Tohru." He breathes her name, more precious than air.

She throws her arms around him and buries her face in his shirt. The dam bursts. Her shoulders quake. Her voice tangles in the air as she cries into his chest.

"I'm so sorry." She sobs.

He sweeps her hair over her shoulder with fingers splayed, then takes her in his arms. He squeezes her tight, strokes her shoulders and murmurs, lips pressed against her crown.

"You don't have anything to apologize for." He bends at the waist, cross-legged on the floor, and shields her body with his. He shifts one hand to her back and strokes along her spine.

She shakes her head, indignant. "No, you said you weren't sure about inviting them here and now I--"

He curls her clothes under his fingertips. He lowers his lips to her ear and nuzzles at her with the bridge of his nose. "Hey. What just happened fucking sucked, but it is not your fault. Okay? You're not responsible for them."

"But if I hadn't--"

He pulls back. His hands are warm to the touch as they weave her hair behind her ears. Her face rests in the beds of both his hands, tilted up towards him as the well in her chest spills over and hot tears flow down her cheeks and into his skin. Her heart pounds. Her breath comes short and shallow. She turns into the palm of his hand and shuts her eyes against the deluge. Tears cool on her chin and slake down her neck.

"Look at me."

He strokes the crest of her cheek with his thumb. She purses her lips over a sob.

"Please? Please look at me." Comes his request, gentle as it is persistent.

She blinks her brown eyes alive under lamplight, cheek buried in his hand.

"I  _ love _ you."

The whole of her strength gathered in a single breath, she exhales. The ties to her composure slip from her clammy hands and whip away with the wind through the dining room window. He kisses her cheeks and kisses her eyes at the corners. He parts her bangs with a stroke of his hand and kisses her in the center of her forehead.

Lachrimal streams swell and plateau, then dry unto nothing under his warmth. He tucks her hair behind her ear and melts his hand down her jaw as he draws back once more.

"It's okay. Everything's all right." He tells her. "Really. Tell me what you wanna do, and we'll do it."

"Is it alright if -- can we be alone? Just for a little while?"

He glances toward the empty archway leading into the corridor and listens as Kazuma and Kunimitsu move past one another in the kitchen. The clattering of plates and hushed voices grates him. His shoulders pitch.

"We can go upstairs if you want." He glances back at Tohru, a slight smile on his lips. "That okay with you?"

She nods.

Steps creak and floorboards sigh before the threshold to the room that once was his. The door rattles as he pulls it open, watching quietly as she steps inside. The door kisses its frame with a click. Kyo shoulders open the closet and smothers a duvet between his arms. He kicks the closet door closed.

"For what it's worth,  _ I _ think you kicked ass." He says with a lopsided smirk and love in his eyes.

She laughs and drags her sleeve across her eyes. Her chest stutters with a sniffle. "Really? How?"

The blanket unfurls with a snap of his wrists. Gossamer feathers drift with the dust in a shaft of sunset cast by the window. He sits on the floor, legs crossed and arms splayed to take her in.

She sits in his lap and wriggles in close as he drapes the blanket over her shoulders.

"Whaddaya mean 'how'? You stuck up for yourself and still managed to be kind and decent to someone who was basically askin’ for a fight." He rests his thumb in the hollow of her collar bone. "And you didn't even raise your voice or cuss 'er out."

"Oh, I couldn't do something like that."

He smirks. "You could. But you didn't, because you wanted to be nice to 'er 'cause she's your family. Right?"

"And it's the right thing to do." She traces shapes in the impressions on the wall behind him. Reticent.

"Maybe."

"To tell you the truth," he blinks up at her. A sheaf of orange hair hangs in his eyes. "I hate when people yell."

" _ Do _ you?"

He nods, chewing the inside of his lip.

"But you used to yell all the time. A-and today, just now."

"You can get used to things you hate when they happen to you all the time. Even do the things you hate to other people." He shrugs. "Plus your aunt had it comin'. I won't let anybody talk to you like that."

He gathers her in his arms and pulls her into his lap. She buries her face in his neck and breathes in the smell of him. He rests his chin at the crown of her head. His hands pour down her back and over her arms.

"And you shouldn't either. Okay?"

"Okay."

He plants a kiss along her hair's part and draws back to take her in.

“...What is it?” She squirms.

"I was just thinking that you’re the nicest person I know."

She sinks into her shoulders. "W-well I -- it's not really being nice if the reasons are selfish."

He wrinkles his nose. "Fuck the reasons. Nobody's gonna remember why you did what you did, just how you made 'em feel. That matters. That’s real."

Purpose burns behind his eyes and sears her skin as he tucks into the slope where her neck meets her shoulder. He speaks to her, lips pressed to flesh, words deliberate like he's casting a spell. "But you don't have to be nice to everyone, y’know. Not everyone deserves it."

"You're right," she sighs. “I’m trying, but it’s hard."

"I know. And look, you’re gettin’ better all the time."

"'Badass', right?"

He sputters. 

She panics. "I-isn't that what you said earlier? About everything downstairs?"

He laughs and rests his brow against her collar. "Heh. No, but I like your version better."

She glows where his skin touches hers. His hair tickles her neck. The heat from his forehead builds at her chest through her shirt. She cradles the back of his head in her hands, rubbing circles into the nape of his neck with her thumbs.

His breath spills slow over her chest as he glides up her back. He tilts his head, brushing the center of her collar bone with his lips as he rolls her sleeve down her shoulder.

Her bra strap is velvet beneath a calloused thumb. He plucks it like a cello string and it slips aside, leaving the swell of her breast a blank canvas before him. He slides off the other side with his hand and swathes her breasts with his palms. He kisses and scrapes his teeth up her throat and in the shadow of her jaw.

Her fingers tighten in his hair and she guides him to her lips. She sighs into his mouth and crosses her ankles behind him. She feels him toy with the hem of her shirt before taking hold. They break the kiss and he pulls her shirt overhead. 

His fingers rove her spine and pinch at the clasp of her bra. She shrugs it down her shoulders and flings it somewhere behind him.

Her skin is a meadow, a goosebump for every blade of grass and heather, and his touch spreads like wildfire. He bunches her skirt where her thighs meet her hips, his large hands spread wide under her clothes to pull her ever further into his lap. He laps at her tongue and caresses her with his kiss as she tugs his shirt up his back.

She drags her fingers along the hardened muscles there, painting strong ridge of his shoulders with her fingernails. The kiss breaks once more as she sheds his shirt. He rolls his hips into hers, hands firm against her, as he takes her bottom lip between his teeth.

She gasps, grasping blindly between them to pull at his belt. His hips rise to meet hers, a beautiful and raw sound rising from his chest. Metal clinks in her hand and she punches the button of his pants through.

He tumbles on top of her, her hair sprawled across goose down and tatami. She steals a breath in the shallow arc between their lips. She bares her teeth and furrows her brow, clamping down on his lower lip and sweeping her tongue across it. He inhales short and sharp. The phantom of his voice stirs in his throat.

He peels away by centimeters, groaning as she releases his lip and squirms beneath his weight. He spreads a hand on the duvet at her back, watching her face as he dips his fingers into the warm cotton and elastic beneath the folds of her skirt. His mouth meets her breast as two fingers glide up and down her slit. He shudders at the heat, at the mess she makes of his fingers.

His breath hitches as he sucks at her nipple, his thumb working circles against her clit as he prods her with his fingertips. Her back arches. His mouth is full as she pushes her chest into him. She envelopes him in her thighs.

She scrapes her nails down his sides, lips curling as he shivers. She digs her fingers past his waistband and shoves his pants down his hips. She bites her lip and watches his hips bob in the shaft of light, dark shadows lengthening up his spine.

His fingers tease her, rough and slow and thick, and she bites back a moan.

He sucks at her harder. His wrist wobbles with the strain of his muscles. He pumps her once, twice, three times. He yanks his hips back and hums against her breast.

"Please Kyo," she sharply says. Her heels dig into his thighs and her hipbone rocks into his stomach.

He captures her in another kiss, pulling his hand free from between her legs. He hooks his fingers over her shoulder from behind. She watches the focus melt from his face as she takes him in her hand.

"I want it." She whispers against his lips.

She tows him in with the strength of an ocean current, with the gravity of a celestial body. His brow is twisted, a single crease set between them as he watches her through hazy amber eyes. They meet at her center, the soft pad of her hand gooey against her inner thigh. He burns at her entrance, his eyes boring, pleading, with hers as he strains against clinched teeth and the steady pull of her hand.

Her fingers unwind and glide over his hip. She rakes opaque little sketches in his skin with her fingernails, her thumb resting in the divot between his hip and the taut slab of muscle running down his abdomen. Breath spills shallow between his lips and he pushes inside. His voice tangles in the air, a whimpered, hungry prayer, as he buries himself within her.

Blush blooms across her skin like the first burst of new growth after rain. Her hands take root at his hip and at his back, legs curling around him and pulling him in with every thrust. Her hair gets pulled into the trembling fist he makes in the blanket near her head. His hand is warm and damp against her cheek as he moves to caress it, his eyes half-hooded and desperate.

She leans into it. Kisses his wrist and oozes a moan into his skin.

He shudders. "I-I can't--"

She buries her nails in his skin, arms quaking with his frantic pace. She runs her tongue between the tendons, tightropes running under his rich bronze skin. She punctuates with a kiss. "I  _ want _ you to."

His hand slides along the curve of her neck. He grasps at her shoulder. He hangs his head with a string of strangled grunts. He rests his forehead at her chest and takes her nipple between his teeth. His breath rolls cool like morning fog over sweat-smeared skin, hips rocking in and out of the light from the window.

He digs into the floor with his toes for leverage. Every lurch brings her hips off the floor, their mess dripping between her legs on onto the duvet at her back. She wraps her arms around his neck and bites down on a warm patch of skin. His hair tickles her face. His voice rumbles in his throat and sizzles at her ear as he stuffs himself in and in and in, greedy to take, greedy to give.

His calves strain against his skin, feet dragging across the floor. There's power, intention in this, his last stroke. Tohru cries into his neck. He shuts his eyes and hisses through his teeth, clinging to her like high ground in a flood. Light crackles behind his eyes and in the hollow of his stomach. He feels the sweat slake down his cheek but the heat has no meaning.

For a handful of treasured moments, there is nothing at all in the whole of the world but her. He drowns in her scent, in the plush, impossible, immeasurable reality of her. He empties himself, and she is full.

They collapse to the floor.

They lie together, entangled, in the silence of what used to be his bedroom. The duvet is knotted amongst errant limbs and thousandfold ridges of tatami. Scattered clothes make a messy halo around them on the floor. The room lays dusk darkened around them, and what once was a column of pink-orange light from the sunset now is a patch of streetlamp yellow. It drapes across his skin, the fine line of the window frame painted across his shoulder.

He cradles her in the palm of his hand as he rests his head against her collar. Night falls upon him through the bend in her arm. She tills his hair with lacquered fingernails, watching the rise and fall of his shoulder blades against the white stucco walls. 

She rests a thigh at the crest of his tilted hips, holding him close to her. Her foot fits into the place where his thigh curves into his calf, toes curled against the tatami. Her eyes race after a bead of sweat as it curls down his shoulder and seeps into her skin.

He cloaks her ribcage with his fingers. He smooths his cheek against her chest. The tip of his nose meets her inner wrist. 

"...Kyo?"

"Mm?" His lips graze her pulse.

"Tell me why you hate yelling."

A pause looms over them as he twists her hair between his fingers and brushes his lips against her skin. She closes her eyes and feels his voice reverberate through her.

"...Makes me feel small, I guess." He rests his cheek against the swell of her breast. He breathes in the smell of her skin, tangled sweet and sweaty with the smell of him. "Even now, I'll raise my voice and hear it bounce back off the walls and it leaves me feelin' stupid. A little smaller than before I opened my damn mouth."

She winces. "I know how that feels."

"Back when I was little, I yelled a lot because that's all anyone ever did, where I was concerned. I felt weak all the time. And what I said didn't matter anyway." He sighs. "Now I'm older. Things are different. People actually kinda listen to me, now. I was always afraid of my dad's voice because when men yell, it -- it's fucking scary. Now I'm a man and -- shit, I've scared myself more than a few times."

His brow tightens. He presses the curve of it into her chest, eyes closed. "Scared you, too."

He holds her close. He breathes her in, seeking absolution in the cooling surface of her skin.

"A couple of times, yes." Her smile unfurls like flower petals in the sun. "But you’ve made me feel warm and safe way more times than you’ve ever made me feel scared."

A noncommittal hum stirs in his chest.

"I've heard your voice so soft I could hardly hear it." She murmurs, "I've heard it loud and deep. Smooth. Raspy, too, like when you've just woken up. It's my favorite voice. I feel so lucky to hear it."

Overwhelmed, he buries his nose in the valley between her breasts. His grin grows against her. "Shuddap."

She giggles. "I won't!"

It's dark in the halls when they rejoin the world, fingers interlaced, wrinkles in their clothes where before there were none. They bump shoulders in the narrow flight of stairs, Kyo lingering a half-step after her to make room. His arm is outstretched towards her, still holding her hand, as she descends the stairs to the main floor. Red ribbons dance dark in the tendrils of her hair. She stops as her feet touch the floor. She cups her face with her free hand.

"H-Hana? Uo?"

Hanajima and Uotani bolt out of their coats and down the hall towards her first. They catch her in a frantic embrace, reeling back to inspect her person and ask in soft voices after her spirit.

"We got the text from Kyo and we came over as fast as we could," Uotani says, her brow knotted. "Are you okay?"

"Huh? Y-yes, I'm all right. How did you--?" She swivels her attention from one to the other until her attention snags further down the hall.

Yuki and Shigure hang coats in the doorway and slip off their shoes, offering waves and expressions of meek understanding.

"I hope we're not too late." Yuki remarks.

Shigure nudges him with a smirk. "We were told there'd be food."

"Everyone," Tohru turns to Kyo, eyes teeming with new tears. "Kyo, you called them?"

He shrugs with a tight smile. "You said you wanted to celebrate with family, right?"

He reaches past Uotani and Hanajima to brush the fringe from Tohru's face. His hand lingers at the curve of her cheek before he passes them.

"Jeez. Ya wanna eat so bad, come help me get the food." He complains as he makes for the kitchen.

They tuck into the dining room once more as night envelopes the house. The sharp scent of sake drifts past the kitchen noren, the male voices inside overlapping, thick with drink. The kids are gathered around the perimeter of the table, drinks in hand, platters strewn across the the tabletop. 

" _ 'How do you wanna deal with this' _ ?" Uotani slams her fist against the table. "Let's see how she  _ deals with _ a lead pipe to 'er knees."

Hanajima's face is immaculately stoic. She lays a cool, quiet hand on Uotani's back. "That won't work, Arisa. She'd be able to identify you."

Uotani bares her teeth. "Oh, I  _ hope _ she knows who I am when I come after 'er. The shit she pulled today..."

Tohru waves her open palms before her with a nervous smile. "Please don't trouble yourself -- o-or her either. What she said was painful, but everything's alright now."

Uotani wraps Tohru in her arms and tows her into an embrace. "Ugh, I should'a been here."

Hana coils Tohru's hair around her fingers and releases each strand with a flourish. She lays her emptied hand across her back and feels her heart flutter like a canary in its cage.

"Are you alright, though?" She wonders.

Tohru's face flushes and she blinks back the stinging in her eyes. She stems the flood at the back of her throat with a hard kind of smile.

"I'm very grateful," she chokes on the words, resting her cheek on Uotani's collar. "I'm h-humbled all the time with how lucky I am."

Hana tilts her head. The corners of her lips tic upward. "Oh? Why is that?"

Tohru nods. "All I wanted to do today was celebrate our engagement with our family. I wanted to eat with everyone, play games, and give our families the chance to get to know one another before Kyo and I get married."

She rubs at her eye with her sleeve, her cheek pink in its wake. "It didn't turn out quite the way I expected, but you're all here, aren't you? I'm just…happy. I really couldn't ask for more."

Kyo rests his head against the wall, a hand perched on his bent knee. He studies her face for the pink in her cheeks, for those wet brown eyes. He settles at the upturn pull of her lips and the power of her voice as the tears give way to laughter, to talk, to joy.

She meets his eye and beams.

His heart rams against his chest, his throat dry and empty. He curls his fingers at her across the room.

A wordless exchange finds his shoulders a little broader, her back a little straighter, and space between them alive with levity.

She smiles, and so, then, does he.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone,
> 
> Happy Lunar New Year and Happy Valentine's Day! I just celebrated my birthday this week and I wanted to be sure I got a chapter out in time for all the celebrations.
> 
> Also, wow! As of this chapter, Everspring is officially the length of a light novel. I am infinitely appreciative of you all for reading!
> 
> This chapter was planned from the time I knew I wanted Everspring to tell the story of Tohru and Kyo growing into adulthood, their relationship, and building the foundation from high school sweethearts to husband and wife. I love the manga for alluding so heavily to their marriage in its final chapters, particularly with Kyo's "proposal" to Tohru at Kyoko's grave. That always read as an informal marriage proposal to me back then, so I'm quite happy to expand on it now in this work.
> 
> Tohru comes across as the kind of person to provide people infinite chances to do well, but also to do her harm. I have family members a lot like her aunt, here, and I wanted to provide a situation for her to grow away from the idea that she owes her family anything on the merit of them being family. Plus the reunion of her found family at the end makes it all the sweeter. Tohru's real family is the one she's chosen, and I love that for her.
> 
> We're in the home stretch! The last batch of chapters already have rough outlines and I'm getting emotional as we approach them.
> 
> I love you all, and am so grateful for the care and attention you've shown to me and my art.
> 
> If you'd like to continue the conversation (or commission me) please reach out at my blog, thecitybee.tumblr.com.
> 
> Be well.


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